When the Music Stops
by Candid-Canoe
Summary: An accident keeps Logan and his parents from moving to Minnesota. When Kendall and Logan meet years later, Kendall hears clear as a bell. Logan doesn't. "Sitting on a speaker instead of a drummer's throne, Logan turns up the bass, pounding out any bitterness he had let fester in his heart. He won't leave himself to rot, not anymore." Slash/AU/Eventual Kogan
1. Forked

**Author's Note: **So this is really different for me. Extremely, extremely AU. I generally kind of like to work in a more canon-verse type setting, but this veers way off course. Oh, and Hortense doesn't exist. Since this is so AU, Logan doesn't meet Mrs. Diamond, and I can't just leave him as Hortense forever, okay? Okay. This is also an experiment (of sorts) for me, as in I don't really have much of a plan. It's a write and post type thing and I don't even have an outline done. So, essentially, updates depend on you, the reader, and your responses as I go. Any questions or concerns along the way, feel free to review or message me. I'm totally accessible. Also, I feel that I should note the views and opinions (as with all of my fic) expressed in this don't necessarily reflect my own.

And this, as with EVERYTHING I write, is slash. So if you don't like to read about beautiful boys falling in love, go away now.

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you might recognize.**

* * *

"Come on, Logan," the ten-year-old urges. "You're moving in a week, and I bet they don't even have swimming pools in Minnesota."

Logan looks at his cousin like he's crazy. That can't be right. Logan might only be eight - nine in four months - but he's done his research. Minnesota has warm summers.

"They have pools," Logan tells his cousin, Bobby, while rolling his eyes.

"Well, this is the last time you'll get to go swimming with _me, _at least for awhile. We have to make it memorable." He tugs Logan toward the highest diving board, the look on his face nearing desperation.

Logan thinks it over, watching the big kids do flips off the board. The heat rolls through the Texas air, and Logan's nose burns when he takes a deep breath. It's a scorching day, and the teens plunking their way into the cool water laugh and flirt as they enjoy the pool. They make the acrobatics look easy.

"Okay," Logan concedes, thinking it can't be much harder than the flips he does on solid ground, "but you have to go first."

"Sure, sure, yeah!" Bobby does a little hop to the ladder, scaling it with no fear. He walks to the end of the board and flashes Logan a little smirk before jumping, completing a smooth flip before sliding into the water. Easy.

Logan gets in position for his own jump, beginning to feel a little cocky. He knows he's a better gymnast than Bobby, and Logan's backflip on the trampoline is practically flawless. So he turns around, puts his back to the water.

The last voice he hears is his mother shouting, "Don't you dare, Logan Mitchell!"

The last sound he hears is his head hitting the board with a sickening thud.

-L-

Logan Mitchell loved reading medical books, books on rare conditions, books on bizarre surgical procedures. He needed help sounding out all the words, but his father never minded. Logan sat in his dad's lap for hours at a time, eyes glued to the page as the words he pointed to were whispered in his ear. Logan's mom would fondly chide his dad, insisting Logan was too young to read such things.

"But it's medical," he would excuse. "The human body should be learned along with your multiplication tables. Right, Logan?"

Logan would only nod before continuing, "What's a 'diaphragmatic hernia', Daddy?"

That is over now.

Logan wakes, groggy, his head thumping with pain he was unaware existed outside the pages of books. He slits his eyes open in the low light, the drip of an IV cool in his arm.

"Mom?" he says. His voice must be scratchy because he can't hear the spoken appellation. Logan tries to clear his throat, but everything aches.

"Mom?" he repeats, still hearing nothing, but his mother appears, hovering over him. There's clear worry stitching furrows into her forehead, her dark eyes swimming in unshed tears.

The room is eerily silent, not even the rush of breath through his lungs can Logan hear. Even the _beepbeep _he always notices in hospital TV shows isn't present.

Again, he says, "Mommy?" as he tries to recall what happened, what is happening. His mother's mouth moves, but nothing is heard.

"I can't hear anything, Mom. Why can't I hear anything?" It comes crashing down, the fear and confusion, because Logan has never been alone like this, not even the sound of his own voice in his ears to keep him company.

Her mouth moves again, and Logan reads her lips, _It's okay, baby, _or so he thinks she says.

"But it's really, really not," he says, beginning to cry in loud, choking sobs, unable to control his volume because he hears nothing. He's scared and disoriented and when he tries to sit up, a wave of nausea sweeps over him. His mother barely has time to grab a bucket, and he's retching.

When Logan is done being sick and the ache in his little body has doubled, he notices a shadow looming over him. He looks up and sees his father, and Logan immediately reaches out to cling to him.

"Fix it, Daddy. Fix it, okay?" Logan sobs. "You're a doctor, Dad, you can make this all better. I know you can."

Logan's dad squeezes him tightly, but if he answers, Logan never hears it.

-L-

Some sounds come back. Logan can hear a car horn honking, a little, if he's standing right next to it. When he starts school in the autumn, he can hear a low hum in the cafeteria when all the students are speaking as loud as they can. There are vibrations in the air he swears he can sense, taste on his tongue, hum in his ears and he can almost pretend they are sounds he can hear.

Logan insisted on learning all the medical terms that went along with his condition. _Sensorineural hearing loss_, his father had written for him, on a notebook with Batman on the cover. _Temporal bone fracture. _Logan does what he does best and reads about it, deciding it doesn't matter if he can sound out the words because it's not like he could hear them. He learns he could've lost the function of his facial muscles; he could've been a vegetable. His parents keep communicating to him how _lucky _they are he survived, how _lucky _he is to be awake and functioning.

_Lucky._

They don't move to Minnesota as planned. His dad keeps his job at the local hospital despite the huge opportunity he would've been taking by moving. Logan feels horrible about it, ruining all his parents' dreams, halting the progression of their twenty-five year plan. They urge him not to worry about it, mouth to him over and over how _lucky _they are, how they need to be close to family right now. Logan isn't too young or naïve to realize how one stupid, childish decision has turned his life on two wheels, pushed him off the course of normality and thrown him into a world without sound.

He refuses to learn sign language, despite his parents pleading and offer to learn with him.

It doesn't take long before he starts acting out, ignoring his parents, getting in trouble at school. No one is quite sure what to do with him. His last two years of elementary school see his grades barely passing, despite the concessions the school makes – there's an aid who takes notes for him - to help him understand. It's not that he doesn't understand. He just doesn't care anymore.

Once in middle school, Logan gets placed in special education classes, despite a fight against it by his parents.

"My son is a genius," his mother says.

"He's smarter than most high-school students, for Christ's sake," his dad says.

It doesn't help.

Logan gets ridiculously good at reading lips, although there are times he wishes he weren't. There are countless faces turned his direction all the time, words like _retard _and _dummy _and _freak _slipping past their lips. It doesn't help that his parents keep forcing him to wear these stupid, ugly hearing aids that barely help. They're bulky and wired and just plain embarrassing.

His parents beg and plead with him to care about anything again. Logan's dad buys him stack upon stack of medical journals and books and texts, and when he won't read those, he buys him stories about heroes overcoming adversity. Those, Logan loses himself in for hours. He reads out loud to no one, fingers against his throat so he can still sound normal; sometimes he pretends he _is_ normal. Logan's dad realizes his folly all too late, and Logan separates himself even further from his parents.

"But you wanted to be a doctor," Dad says.

"You could still be the best," Mom says.

Logan only refutes them. He's had enough of hospitals and doctors and unsuccessful surgeries to last a lifetime.

One weekend, when Logan is in the sixth grade, his mother takes him to the mall for some mandatory clothes shopping. Logan protests and moans and groans, but Mom is insistent.

It's when they pass a music shop Logan pauses, because there's this steady pulse thrumming through the walls, and Logan releases his balled up fists as though he might feel it in the air. He leaves his mother without a word, walking slowly as he begins feeling the pounding in his feet, traveling up his body and becoming the rhythm of his heart.

Logan sees this guy playing a drum set while two other guys play guitars, and every time the drummer hits the hi-hat Logan smiles. The grin feels foreign on his face, and he reaches up to touch his lips, fingers moving to his cheek and finding that, yes, he still has dimples. He moves to a small amp on the floor the bass guitar is plugged into and puts his hand on top, feeling the sound in his bones while the pounding of the drums seep into the near constant quiet in his head.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Logan jumps, the feeling of the music having filtered out everything else. He looks up to see his mom standing over him.

"You had me worried sick," she starts, before noticing the full blown grin on her son's face. "Logan?"

"I want some of those," Logan says, pointing to the drum set.

His mother is so shocked by Logan's smile, so happy to see her son looking like _her son _again, she immediately nods.

-L-

Music has a science, a formula. Logan figures it out, reads sheet music like a number sentence. Just because he's abandoned his dream of medicine, doesn't mean he can turn off the analytical side of his brain.

He has a new dream now.

Logan's mom actually cries when he says he wants to learn sign language; his dad hugs him close. It's harder than he thought it would be, but also more fun. Sure, he can read lips and speak almost as clearly as when he lost his hearing, but he has found he loves to make his hands fly, quick like helicopter blades, smooth like the wings of a bird. He helps his parents learn, urges them forward, if only for the fact it makes him feel superior.

With steady rhythm and bass, Logan realizes he doesn't just want to scrape by anymore; he's not been sentenced to a quiet death, but challenged at life. He learns to stand up for himself when he finally realizes no one else will do it for him. The first time he talks back to a bully at school, the boy is shocked Logan even has a voice.

But he does, and it's a strong one, too.

The punch to the face Logan delivers is fierce, because his hands are quick and smart and it sends a clear message to anyone who might get the idea to pick on him.

He's left alone after that.

He takes drum lessons for two years before he surpasses the teacher's abilities. It was a struggle at first, communicating, learning without spoken words, but once he found his rhythm, Logan only flew. He goes it alone after that, just like his days of school, months of summer vacations. Sitting on a speaker instead of a drummer's throne, Logan turns up the bass, pounding out any bitterness he had let fester in his heart in the years since the accident. He won't leave himself to rot, not anymore.

Logan wouldn't know if they did, but his parents never complain about the noise.

In high school, he refuses to be coddled by special education classes anymore; he doesn't need to be, never did, the only difference is he has a purpose again.

By the time he reaches his senior year, he's practically an island, and happier because of it, or so Logan believes. His speakers are his friends. He's wrapped his arms around them, pressed his cheeks, forehead and lips to their rough surface, until he has drumbeats in his veins instead of blood: the most intimate contact he's ever received. He repeats songs by Led Zeppelin, Rush, Nirvana, The Who, The Beatles and countless others until he can play the drum solos with his eyes closed, never missing a beat despite barely hearing any of it.

Logan has to be a musician, do _something_ in music, something loud and trembling. He's known it since the first time he held a pair of sticks and hit a snare, since the first time he felt the bass drum rumble through the pedal. He wants to make it, breathe it, live in the strike of a tom, run his fingers through the groove of a bongo.

So when he announces his acceptance to UCLA, his parents aren't exactly shocked, but they're not so happy either.

"That's so far away," his mother says.

"What are you going to major in? Biology?" his dad asks, knowing the answer.

"Music," Logan replies, voice clear and strong. He signs the word as well because he loves the sway of his hands.

"But you'll be all alone," Mom says.

Dad makes a dismissive gesture. "He hasn't needed anyone for years."

Logan knows he should protest, but he doesn't, because it's true. He doesn't need anyone. All he needs are vibrations, rhythm, things that make him feel.

His dad has this look on his face, some mixture of pride and resignation and hurt. "You'll be fine, son." He says it for his own benefit.

Once Logan has graduated and accepted accolades for being in the top ten of his class, once his vehicle is packed full and he's ready to go, his mother cries, asks him for the millionth time if he needs them to come help him unpack. His father wraps his arms around Logan tightly, whispers something into the crook of Logan's neck.

Logan doesn't need to read lips to know the familiar words of love and pride, words that still echo in his head, his father's voice when he was small.

"I love you, too, Dad," he replies.

As he leaves, the tiny niggling sadness he feels evaporates. It's gone by the time he hits the state line.

He knows things won't be easy – they haven't been, but for the first time since he was a normal eight-year-old on a normal day at the swimming pool, he feels like he's on the right track.


	2. Missing Link

**Author's Note: Wow, guys, thank you so much for all the alerts and faves and reviews. I've never had such a response on the first chapter of anything I've written for the BTR fandom. I appreciate all the encouragement; you have no idea. **

**This chapter goes into Kendall, James and Carlos without Logan when it comes to the pilot episode. You'll notice some things happen very differently, so remember this is AU. Enjoy!**

* * *

Kendall is standing on the sofa by the big picture window, the curtains cracked as he peeks outside. The vacant house across the street has cars parked in front of it, the door open in a lazy yawn. His eyebrows pull together as he watches a lady come outside to the _For Sale _sign and struggle with it, trying to jerk it from the ground.

"Kendall Knight, what have I told you about shoes on the couch?" Mrs. Knight shouts when she sees Kendall getting mud on her cushions. He scrambles to get down, turning to his mom and giving her a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "But I think someone bought the house across the street!"

Mrs. Knight smiles at him, thinking she should berate him more for mucking up the sofa, but eventually decides to let it go due to the excitement on her son's face. "Yes, I've heard."

Kendall continues to look at her expectantly, trying not to be too hopeful about the new neighbors. "Well?" he urges, throwing his hands up. "Spill what you know."

She shakes her head in fond exasperation. An eight-year-old son is definitely a trial on her good nature, especially when that son has two equally rambunctious friends.

"It seems the local hospital is getting a new chief-of-staff, and he's moving in there," she gestures across the street, "with his wife and eight-year-old. They're from Texas."

Kendall waits and watches his mom, wondering if she's going to elaborate any more. He loves his best friends, James and Carlos, but they need an even number. Breaking up into teams is horribly difficult with the three of them, and Kendall needs someone to be just _his. _James and Carlos are always doing things, only the two of them, and Kendall hates to admit how much that irks him. He doesn't want to be whiny or let anyone know how much he needs or show how maybe he is the tiniest bit codependent. That would never do, not since he's the man of the house now.

"Boy or girl?" Kendall prods after several beats of silence.

"From what I hear, a little boy," she answers.

Kendall pumps his fist in the air, does a spinning jump. "He's going to be all mine!" Kendall exclaims, laughing. "Do you think he'll have a funny accent? I've always wanted a best friend with a funny accent."

Before Mrs. Knight can answer, Kendall is rattling off the things he's going to do with his new friend: sleepovers, movies, listening to happy music.

-K-

The phones rings seven times, but Kendall isn't going to answer it.

"Kendall, your dad's on the phone," Mrs. Knight shouts. The sound is muffled, quiet through Kendall's closed door.

"I don't want to talk to him," Kendall says, the volume so low Mrs. Knight has no chance of hearing. A few more moments pass before there's a knock on his door and it opens.

"Dad is on the phone," Mrs. Knight repeats, walking inside and trying to hand the phone to Kendall. Kendall merely shakes his head, worms under the covers on his bed. She sighs, mumbling something into the phone before the _beep _sounds out indicating the phone is off now.

"Kendall – "

"Why'd you keep his name, Mom?" he asks suddenly, pulling the covers down so he can look at his mother fully.

"I wanted to have the same last name as my kids. I didn't want there to be any confusion," she answers, quickly, as though the answer has always been prepared.

"But he left us." Kendall glances out the window, the curtains pulled back, the house across the street still empty even after a whole year of its supposed selling. He stares at the colors on the _For Sale _sign until they blur together.

Mrs. Knight sits on the bed. "Sweetie, he left _me, _not you and Katie." She reaches out, taking her son's cheek in her palm before running fingers through his hair.

"Could've fooled me," Kendall replies, pulling away from his mother and burrowing back under the covers.

Most of the time, Kendall is okay. He's strong and supportive and brave. Then there are days like today, where he wants to mope and feel sorry for himself. Everyone has those days, Kendall thinks, where every breath hurts.

"Why don't you call up James or Carlos to come visit? Hmm?" The bed shifts as she stands. "That would help cheer you up, right?"

They probably would, but Kendall being in the mood he is in, he just looks out the window and thinks, _I bet my best friend from across the street would've been over already. I bet I wouldn't even feel this way. _

Maybe Kendall is a little bitter over his phantom best friend. As the years go by, though, he becomes just another thing Kendall has lost.

-K-

Kendall Knight has always thought himself a protector of sorts. Not so much that his friends need protecting, but more so that he looks out for them, wants them to be happy.

Carlos started wearing his helmet nearly constantly after all of Kendall's pushing that he should. James passes his classes because Kendall helps him. Not like Kendall doesn't need a helmet himself. Not that he's an excellent student. He's just Kendall and he finds a way to make sure his buds are taken care of. Always.

So when they hear about the infamous Gustavo Rocque holding auditions close by, Kendall knows he has to help James. It's been his dream for as long as Kendall can remember – he's pretty sure James danced up to meet him for the first time and sang out the word _Hello_ – and Kendall's purpose has always been to see his friends happy. Besides, James is ridiculously good looking - complete popstar material.

Sometimes he wishes his friends needed him a little more, but that's neither here nor there.

Once the announcement is made on TV, all three boys call their parents looking for a ride, but get no answers. Kendall curses himself repeatedly, wondering why he didn't study just a little harder to get his learner's permit, because if he had they could totally borrow a car. They all sit, staring at their phones and squirming in their seats on Kendall's couch, urging them to ring.

"Wait!" Kendall exclaims, his train of thought leading him to a solution. "Let's ask Mrs. Magicowski to drive us!"

"But Mrs. Magicowski drives so slow!" James leaps from the sofa, and he really must be freaking out because he starts pulling on his perfectly coifed, brown hair. "She hit me on my bike once and I didn't even feel it."

Carlos stands beside James, throws on his hockey helmet. "Let's just run there. Let's go, guys!"

"Carlos, there's no way we can make it there in time. We've got less than half an hour and the theater is miles from here. Come on, it's our only shot."

The boys finally agree, all three of them scrambling next door and scaring Mrs. Magicowski with their incessant knocking. It takes a fair amount of bribery, but she agrees.

And James was right, Mrs. Magicowski drives at a snail's pace, slow as Christmas and a zillion other analogies Kendall has plenty of time to come up with on the drive. James is fretting and mumbling and once they are within sight of the theater, he throws open the car door and runs.

"Will you wait here for us?" Kendall asks, ensuring they have a way home while Carlos runs after James.

"I'll make my way in there, boy. Don't want to miss out on seeing you kids make fools out of yourselves." Mrs. Magicowski laughs, but not in a mocking way. She lightly pats Kendall's cheek. "Go on."

"Thank you, ma'am," Kendall says, throwing open the door to follow his friends.

He hears raised voices the moment he walks in. He glances at his watch and realizes they are five minutes past the open audition time. James is arguing with a dark-haired lady holding a clipboard.

"But there's still time! He's here, I'm here and he needs me!" James shouts, pointing to his wrist even though there is no watch there.

The lady looks flustered, like she wants to agree with him, but she only says, "Mr. Rocque says he's done."

"Oh no, he's not," Kendall says, approaching his friends and the woman with her clipboard. "He's got the few minutes it'll take to see James."

"Yeah!" Carlos agrees, stretching up to his full height – not so impressive - and nodding. "He's got the time."

"Look, I'm sorry. But when Gustavo says he's done, it's really not best to push him." She lowers her voice and leans in toward the boys. "And when he's like this, he wouldn't be impressed with _anyone, _let alone whatever kind of weird, plaid, hockey band you guys are."

"We're not a band," Kendall is quick to correct, furrowing his brows. "We only want James to audition." James wiggles his fingers and waves.

"You are really cute." She rubs a hand over her face. "Wait here," she says.

"Tell him I'm amazing," James chimes. He lowers his voice, "Because I'm _amazing_."

She rolls her eyes as she walks away, making a dismissive gesture with her hands, disappearing behind the double doors leading into the theater. About that time, Mrs. Magicowski makes her way inside and comes to stand next to the boys.

"Not going so well?" she asks, and the guys shrug their shoulders. "Surprise, surprise."

By the time the dark-haired woman emerges from the theater, it's fifteen minutes past the deadline. "Sorry, guys, Gustavo says auditions are over."

"Huh uh," Kendall says, striding quickly toward the doors, "he can't do this."

A look of fear passes over the dark-haired lady's face. "Um, security? Could you, uh, stop Mr. Tall, Blond and Eyebrows here?" The huge guys flanking the doors make a move to grab Kendall, but he easily out maneuvers them and bolts into the theater. Hockey moves come in handy in real-life situations and Kendall always knew it.

"I told you _no_," Gustavo says, his head resting on a table in front of the stage. He looks up when no one answers him and sees Kendall approaching him quickly. "Who are you and what are you wearing?"

"Just who do you think you are?"

"I'm Gustavo Rocque and I'm a genius! _Who _are _you_?"

"A genius, huh?" Kendall looks over his shoulder, notices his friends and Mrs. Magicowski in a scuffle with the security guys. He returns his gaze to Gustavo, smirks. "You haven't had a hit in over a decade."

"That's not true! Boyquake had a hit in – "

"Oh, that song?" Kendall is so angry he's seeing red. This washed up, gargantuan, pompous dude thinks he's too good to let his best friend audition? He starts to sing Gustavo's crappy song, moving his feet and recreating the same dance moves from every band this guy has produced since the early '90s, each thrust of his hips and high-pitched note full of mockery. Kendall gets in Gustavo's face and spits the lyrics, bumping into Gustavo's fleshy hip with his firm one. Gustavo stumbles back, a look of pure shock on his face.

"Security!" he shouts, just as Carlos and James break free of the two huge guards. There's more scuffling when security enters the theater, but even when he's tackled and subdued, Kendall is still singing in a fury.

"Here's a song for you!" Kendall rallies and sings, "_Oh, you're such a turd, Oh yeah, a giant turd, and you look like a turd, and you smell like a turd." _

Not the most mature thing ever, but Kendall is pissed. He will fuck up anybody who messes with his friends, even if it's just by messing with someone's head. And judging by the look on Gustavo's face as Kendall is dragged away, the big guy has definitely been messed with.

-K-

They're all nursing their wounds on the couch as Mrs. Knight gives them a stern talking to. Thankfully, Mrs. Magicowski put in a few words for them (she couldn't really speak ill of them, considering she was in the middle of the fray) so Mrs. Knight isn't as harsh as she could be. Kendall is pretty sure she goes easy on them because of James' dejected expression as well. He's clearly heartbroken, which only keeps Kendall's anger fueled.

"I can't believe that guy!" Kendall says, throwing his hands in the air. "He wouldn't even _listen._ Of course, James has more than what it takes to be famous. He's got more talent in his pinky than that asshole has in his whole stupid body.

"We'll just have to get James famous another way," Carlos says, flashing a smile at James. "Then one day he'll be kicking himself for how dumb he was."

"Yeah, about that, what that lady said about us being a ba - "

James is interrupted by a knock on the door, and Kendall is still fuming as he goes to answer it.

"What?" he booms, completely un-Kendall-like. His face flushes red, his anger doubling when he registers the duo at his door.

"What the h -, " he stops, remembering there _is _a lady present, and he's nothing if not a gentleman, dammit. "What are you doing at my house?"

The big man, Gustavo, gives him a long look. "I want to make you an offer you can't possibly refuse."

-K-

"I refuse," Kendall says, finishing out the nod Gustavo was perceiving as positive. There's no sound but pure shock in the room. Despite what some might think, shock has a clear sound Kendall can imagine likens to that of electricity humming through wires, and right now, there's an electrical fire in Gustavo's head. Kendall can see the smoke coming from the big guy's ears.

The almost-silence is broken by Gustavo smashing his tea cup. The dark-haired woman - Kelly, they've learned - places a calming hand on Gustavo's arm. Mrs. Knight stares blankly at the pieces of one of her best tea cups.

"Kendall," Kelly starts, "Gustavo wants to make you famous. This isn't something we offer every day. Are you certain?"

"I just wanna play hockey," Kendall replies, "and hang out with my buds. And why should I do anything with _him _anyway? He's obviously rude and destructive and has some serious anger issues."

"Kendall," James whispers. Kendall looks toward him and leans in so James can speak to him quietly. There's this look of desperation on James' face, but there's no way in hell Kendall is going to let James live vicariously through him. "Why aren't you agreeing to this? Say _yes_."

"No," Kendall replies with equal fervor. He's always done things on his own terms, his own rules since his dad left, and he's not about to let some jerk start dictating his life now.

Gustavo's head is redder than a firecracker and twice as hot. He gets up and walks as quickly as he can, heading outdoors to cool off.

"Here's my card," Kelly says, leaving the card and some money on the table. Mrs. Knight looks at the wad of bills incredulously.

"For the damage. Kendall, we'll be here until tomorrow afternoon. Call me if you change your mind, okay? And think about this long and hard." Kelly winces when there is more smashing heard from outside. She throws down a few more bills.

"I won't be changing my mind, but thank you for the lovely experience of meeting you fine people," he says, sarcasm evident.

"Kendall," his mother warns.

"What?"

Kelly sighs. "Just...think about it."

-K-

"I hate you," James says, brutally pushing a shopping cart towards the direction of the return. Kendall is taking an impromptu break from the grocery store as Carlos and James make a rather destructive game of helping him with the job of gathering carts from the parking lot. The cart misses the return and bumps into a car.

"James," Kendall starts, "that's your dream, not mine. I just want to play hockey."

"But the girls!" Carlos whines. Kendall rolls his eyes. Girls are nice enough, they're soft and smell nice, but Kendall is more interested in sweaty guys in hockey jerseys with big sticks. He snorts out loud at his thought process and resists the urge to say _That's what she said._

"Would you guys really move to L.A. with that asshole and let him run stuff for you?"

"Yes," James replies, "in a heartbeat."

"But he wouldn't give you the time of day!"

"So? He gave it to _you._ Call him. Don't be an idiot."

"What's the point of being famous if I don't have you guys?" Kendall adds.

"Okay," Carlos interjects, taking a firm grip on a shopping cart, "if this is a hole in one, you call that guy." Without waiting for an answer, Carlos begins pushing the cart, jumps in and promptly gets hit by a slow moving car. Thankfully, he's wearing a helmet.

"You should still call him," James says, putting a hand on Kendall's shoulder and squeezing. He's so earnest, Kendall only nods, but he has a new idea formulating that just might work.

-K-

When the stretch limo pulls up and Gustavo gets out, Kendall crosses his arms over his chest, a smug expression on his face.

He's got nothing to lose.

"So?" Gustavo prompts.

"Okay," Kendall starts, "I'll go to L.A. with you and record some demos." Gustavo and Kelly look relieved and Kendall can already see them starting to celebrate. He wonders, for the first time, what the hell they see in him. Before it was all some kind of joke and he hadn't really thought twice about it, but seeing the relief on these two strangers' faces he can't help but question their judgment. It's a little nice to have some leverage though.

"But!" Kendall adds, jabbing a finger in the air, "I want you to take my buds here, too, and make us a singing _group._"

"Ha! I don't even know if these two idiots can sing!" Gustavo replies, full out laughing in Kendall's face, but he keeps his expression neutral.

"But weren't you quoted saying that you could make a _dog _a popstar?" Kendall counters.

"I'm not looking for dogs!" Gustavo shouts. "I'm looking for someone amazing."

"I'm amazing," James interjects.

"You've been to dozens of cities and I'm the best you could find? I'd say you need us." Kendall gets a little closer to Gustavo. "Don't you have a deadline or something?"

Gustavo glares at him, and there's some emotion Kendall can't decipher. He decides it might be fear, maybe indecision. "The boy band is dead. Besides, three guys aren't enough for a boy band."

"What about LFO?" Carlos throws in.

"Who even remembers LFO besides their moms?" Gustavo says.

"What about Hanson?" Kendall asks. "Or The Jonas Brothers?"

"Those guys play instruments. Do you dogs play instruments?"

"I play the guitar," Kendall replies. "Carlos has messed around on the bass."

"There's a little thing calls _percussion _in the music industry. That _might _be important!"

"James could learn – " Kendall begins.

"Just shut up." Gustavo takes off his colored glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose between his eyes. "I'm done here. I'm not arguing this anymore. See you guys never." He turns around abruptly, leaving Kendall open-mouthed, a retort burning his tongue.

Kelly gives them all a long, regretful look. "Sorry, guys," she says, and Kendall thinks she really means it.

The three boys are silent as the limo pulls away. Kendall looks to this empty spot between him and where James and Carlos are huddled close to one another. He's always known there was that empty spot and Gustavo only drove the fact home. He pushes his self-pitying feelings aside.

"Oh, well." Kendall shrugs and starts to go back inside the store. James grabs his arm before he can get too far.

"Wait, Kendall." Their eyes meet and there's that desperation on James' face making Kendall feel like a failure. He _fucking _hates feeling like a failure. "We could still be a band."

Kendall laughs. It fades quickly when James's expression doesn't change. "What? You gonna learn to play drums?"

James shakes his head, a half-smile curling the corner of his mouth. "No, I'm too pretty to sit in the back. But I was trying to tell you guys last night, when Kelly thought we were a band it gave me an idea." His face shifts into a full blown grin, because James gets really proud when he comes up with an idea.

"Go on."

"I want us all to be famous together, so let's do it," James answers.

"That's a great idea James!" Carlos agrees. "Think of all the girls." He immediately gets a dreamy expression as he tilts his helmet clad head back to gaze at the sky.

"James, do you have any idea how hard it is in the music business? The rejection we've experienced in the last twenty-four hours is nothing compared to – "

"I _know,_" James interrupts, "but if I'm with you guys, I can handle anything." James affectionately slaps Carlos on the back of his head. "And what's the point of being famous if I don't have you guys?" His words echo Kendall's from not even an hour ago.

Kendall loves his friends, and he would do anything for them. Music is definitely a huge part of who he is, but it's never been so clear to him as it has in the last day. Yes, he sings in the shower, getting ready for school, to Katie when she can't sleep. He's got a music player bursting with melodies he constantly carries, his own soundtrack playing at almost all hours. He'd never entertained the idea of doing it for a living, the thrill of the ice seeming much more attainable.

But, to quote The Beach Boys, wouldn't it be nice? It'll be a challenge, but Kendall Knight is always ready for those.

"Okay." Kendall nods. "Any ideas for a drummer?"

"My cousin George plays the drums in the school marching band!" Carlos says. "The marching band is awesome."

James' smile is blinding. Kendall can't help but return it.

"We need to start practicing," Kendall says. He turns to go back to work, thinking, just maybe, this could be a good thing.


	3. Whatever Will Be

**Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews, alerts and faves, you guys! It all makes me beyond happy, and really keeps me wanting to write. I appreciate every one of you.**

* * *

Logan loves his parents. He really does. But they have the tendency to coddle him beyond normal means. For example, family vacations were spent at the shared family lake house, year in and out, without variance. They feared going anywhere different, a change from monotony, would upset the delicate balance of their son's emotional health. Mom and Dad walked on eggshells around Logan long after he brought himself out of his funk, but Logan could never blame them for it. He knows that dark place he was in better than anyone. They only underestimated Logan's desire to stay out of it.

So when he gets to L.A., after he's settled into his dorm, the first thing he does is visit the beach. He's never seen palm trees or felt the cool tickle of salt water rolling up between his toes.

The sand is much harder to tread than he'd imagined, the tiny bits of beaten glass flinging far in front of him as he walks. He finds he likes the wet sand better than the dry; it's cool and less grainy. The first time he lets the surf wash over his feet, he jumps in surprise because the water is _freezing. _He hadn't expected it, although he thinks he should've considering how much more temperate California is compared to home.

He takes hissing breaths between his teeth until he adjusts to the temperature, venturing into the water just below his knees. He laughs and smiles to himself, aims his gaze at the horizon. The sun is warm on his face, and he closes his eyes, imagining the cry of the gulls like a tambourine, the crash of the waves like a cymbal. Logan feels the sound, the wind rushing past his ears.

This is the place he's just a normal guy. Not smart _for a deaf guy, _not a good percussionist _for a deaf guy. _This is the place he'll just be who he is. No one will gaze upon him with pity. No one will coddle him.

This is the place he'll be free.

-L-

Logan's first few weeks at UCLA go off without a hitch. He doesn't have to worry about annoying roommates. Because of the concessions the university makes for him, he has his own room. He has a buzzer on the door that flashes the lights to alert him someone is there, the same for the landline phone, although he doesn't use that much. Each of his classes has a stenographer attend whose purpose it is to type the lecture, the words transmitted to the screen of Logan's laptop. The university had given Logan the choice between the stenographer and a sign language interpreter. Logan chose the stenographer because the other students are none the wiser. The stenographer could just be another student typing notes along with the lecture.

He's loading up his backpack at the end of his English Comp class when he feels a tap on his arm. He turns around to see a girl with curly brown hair smiling at him. She shrugs her shoulders.

"Sorry," Logan says. "Did you say something?"

"No," she replies, shaking her head. Logan's eyebrows pull together, but he can't help but return the girl's bright smile.

"Did you need something?"

"Can you hear anything or is it completely gone?" she asks.

"Excuse me?" Logan returns, looking around to see if anyone is within ear shot. He's been so careful, and he feels momentary panic bubble up in his throat and takes a big swallow, trying to remain calm.

"Don't worry," she says, "I'm not speaking out loud." She signs, _Do you know sign language?_

He grabs her hands and stills them, eyes darting around frantically as he gives the professor a nervous glance.

"I hear some things," he mouths. "Very, very loud things, buzzing, humming, pounding."

The girl smiles and squeezes Logan's hands where he still holds hers. It reminds him he still clings to her and lets go quickly. "Sorry," he says, although he's not sure why he's apologizing.

"It's okay."

"How did you know?" he asks.

"Do you want to go somewhere we can talk?" She finishes with her hands, _Maybe sign? I could use the practice._

"Okay," Logan says, "but can you stop that? I, uh, don't want other students to know."

She nods, still smiling, and Logan silently leads her across campus and back to his dorm. She sits at his desk, seems to take in his room slowly, as though she's trying to memorize the walls.

_How much time do you have? _Logan signs, speaking the words also.

_Plenty, _she replies. _I'm Camille._

_Hi, Camille. I'm Logan. _Despite his trepidations, Logan loves to speak with his hands, and it's almost a relief to be understood. _Now, how did you know?_

Camille grins, lips pulling back and showing two perfect rows of white teeth. She's beautiful, Logan gives her that, and she seems polite if not a bit eager. _I sit behind you and I saw the lecture on your screen. _

_Fair enough, nosy, _Logan signs, laughing. He knows most people wouldn't recognize the lecture on his screen for what it was, so he asks, _Why do you know how to sign?_

_My mom had a best friend who was born without hearing. She taught me to sign as I learned to speak. I don't remember a time when I _didn't _know how to sign, but I don't get to use it often._

Logan has always thought signing would be best learned as a child grows. If only everyone knew sign language, there would never be any miscommunication. It's the only _universal _language, inflection interpreted with facial expressions. _It wasn't as easy for me._

_You weren't born this way. _Camille doesn't formulate her response as a question.

_No. You're very perceptive, _Logan compliments, reaching out to pat Camille's arm, realizing human contact is something he's denied himself a very long time. It's not something he's ever missed, not really, not until he clutched her hands in the lecture hall.

_It's not like it's hard to tell. You speak very clearly._

_Thank you. _Logan finally smiles in full, returning her split mouth grin.

_Oh, you're cute. _Camille pokes one of Logan's dimples. _Can I ask what happened?_

Logan's face falls and he sighs. _Sure. _There are several moments of silence as Camille stares at him expectantly. _Are you going to ask?_

Camille laughs out loud and Logan wishes he knew what it sounded like. _You're a comedian, too? _She playfully shoves his shoulder. _What happened?_

Logan is wary of sharing so much of himself; he's never been one who easily makes friends, even before the accident. He's found it's safer that way. The less information someone has on him the less they have to use against him. But something about Camille seems simple and caring, and she's already recognized Logan for who he is and is far from judging him for it. So he decides to share his story with her, if only for the chance to vent, to let someone else understand the quiet in his head.

Logan's hands tell the story for ages, and Camille doesn't interrupt. He tells her about the accident, the way he behaved afterwards, finding percussion and finding purpose again. He tells her how he doesn't want people to know because he doesn't want people to judge him for his disability, but rather for his abilities.

She nods and promises to keep it between them.

In turn, she tells him of her dream of acting, how she'd tried for years to break into it, how she hasn't given up on it but wants to have education so she can put she's a "trained actress" on her resume.

Her lack of hesitance has Logan feeling comfortable, but nothing is this easy, he reminds himself. Suddenly, he stops signing mid-sentence.

"I have to get to class," he says.

"Oh," Camille says, letting her hands fall into her lap. She looks at him in a way all too knowing. "I understand."

-K-

"Hey, James, did you find a job yet?" Kendall asks, attempting to feign an annoyed expression and failing.

"Uh, no," James says, producing a mirror out of thin air and smoothing fingers through his hair. "I had my bi-weekly cuticle treatment today, dude."

Kendall snorts, but it's fond. "Do you really plan on your mom, Carlos and me providing for you until the end of eternity? Because that shit gets old."

James looks at him around the edge of the mirror. "When will you realize providing for me is an investment? Just wait until my good looks get us a record deal."

"Silly me," Kendall says, "thinking talent has anything to do with anything in the music business."

"Yes," James is all seriousness, "silly you."

The move to L.A. wasn't a difficult decision, but finding the means certainly was. James begged his mom for months leading up to their high school graduation, and Kendall and Carlos spent most of the summer convincing their own parents.

There were many objections: _You've lost your drummer _and _What about college?_ and _Where will you live? _Kendall, being the know-it-all he is, came up with answers to all of these: _We'll find one easily in California; there are kids everywhere who want to be in a band _and _Just give us a year, maybe eighteen months, and if we're not making progress we'll go to school _and _James' mom said she'd pay our way until we can make it on our own._

At first, it was all about making James' dream come true. Kendall, James and Carlos really, truly sounded terrible the first time they played together, and Carlos's cousin George was reluctant and shy when it came to giving them rhythm. But the first time - after countless hours of practice and pushing and vigilance – they actually made music, Kendall understood the band had become his dream, as well. Nothing compared to the feeling of the guitar in his hands, the sound of Carlos slapping the bass, Kendall's voice providing accompaniment to James', the drums pounding and leading them all. When it finally came together, Kendall had a hard time imagining a time when it hadn't. It's like things flew from there, like their voices and instruments meshed together in some kind of constellation, fit to be gazed upon by the dreamiest fangirl ever created.

It had to be fate.

Until George quit. That pretty much sucked.

But it was okay, because George wasn't part of the dream anyway, never really had been. It's been about Kendall and James and Carlos from the start. So they practice with manufactured beats or just go it acoustic until a drummer can be found.

They got kicked out of the first place they moved to in L.A., The Palmwoods, because they made too much noise. But that was okay, because they really needed to live somewhere there were no shared walls. The Palmwoods was a stupid idea anyway. Kendall blamed James, and maybe they fought about it a little, but that was okay too, because they made up when they found the perfect place that hadn't been available the month before.

It's this house with a basement (okay, maybe not so much a basement as a large food pantry), and there's just enough room for their instruments (including the drum kit abandoned by George when he unceremoniously threw down his sticks declaring his hatred for all three guys). The place might be awesomely tiny (one bedroom), but it's enough, and it has its own four walls, a refrigerator and a kitchen table. Who cares when they'll be famous soon anyway?

"Did you at least get any of the flyers put out?"

"Yeah, I put them at college thingies," James replies, his gaze going back to the mirror as he preens.

"College thingies?"

"That's what I said."

"Do you mean, like, dining halls, bars, dorms or – "

"That second _d _you said. Until campus police asked me to leave."

"James, what did you do?"

"Nothing." James finally puts away the mirror. "I just drew a lot of attention with all the ladies surrounding me." He winks at Kendall and flashes a trademark Diamond smile. Kendall groans.

"Well, how many flyers did you get out before you were kicked off campus?"

"I don't know. Two or three…"

"James."

"Okay, one."

Kendall takes a long, slow breath. This is James. This is nothing new. This is James. This is nothing new. "James, I need you to listen _very _carefully, okay?"

"Okay," James eagerly agrees, putting on his serious face.

"You want to be famous, right?"

"Right."

"You want to be famous as a band, right?"

"Yes, right."

"Do bands have drummers, James?"

"Is this a trick question? Because some rappers only use mixes and some boy bands… I honestly don't see their drummers, so I don't know." James throws his hands in the air.

Kendall just reaches out and affectionately ruffles James's hair earning a hand slap. "We need a drummer. And we won't get one if we don't hold auditions. We can't hold auditions if no one knows we need a drummer. And no one will know if we don't pass out flyers." Kendall grabs the flyers off the kitchen table and shakes them in annoyance. "Which, might I add, I spent _hours _cutting apart so they have these neat little strips at the bottom potential drummers can just rip off."

"So, are you saying I need to pass out more flyers?" James asks.

"Yes," Kendall sighs. He checks his watch before grabbing James by the shoulders, maintaining strict eye contact. "I have to go to work now, but when Carlos gets home, you guys take these," he plops the flyers into James' lap, "and make sure they're all out by the time I get off. Can you do that?"

"Pssh, who do you think you're talking to? I'm James fucking Diamond, and I'm amazing. We'll have a kickass drummer by next Tuesday."

Kendall stuffs his bus pass in his pocket, runs a hand through his hair. "I hope you're right."

As Kendall steps outside and makes his way to the nearest bus stop, he inhales, breathing in the possibilities. He loves L.A., the very air surrounding him sparking with creativity. He's found no matter where in the city he goes, if he listens closely, music flows on the wind just as surely as it delivers him air. This town is always busy, always moving, always providing something to see and feel and live. Up until their move, the guys had never even ridden in a taxi or hopped on a public bus. It's crazy and scary but enlivening beyond what they ever knew.

The longer he thinks on it, Kendall feels like James is right. They will have a kickass drummer by next Tuesday, logic be damned.

-L-

Logan pounds out his frustration on the drums, his eyes closed, arms moving in a blur until they burn.

_Boom-crack-ba boom boom-crack, boom-crack-ba boom boom-crack_

How could he have been stupid enough to audition for a band? Maybe somewhere in his wildest dreams he's imagined being in a successful group, touring the world, signing autographs. But what band in their right mind wants a deaf drummer?

Beating the drums harder, he ignores the sweat rolling into his eyes, bashes the cymbal as though it were that lead singer's face. He should've kept his hearing impairment to himself, he thinks. He's kept it from his fellow students this long. He should have lied.

_Boom-crack-ba boom boom-crack, boom-crack-ba boom boom-crack_

But Logan doesn't want to be a liar. There's no way he could've kept it to himself if he was going to be working with them. He's not ashamed of himself, not at all. In fact, most of the time, he's pretty goddamn proud of himself. Until some cocky bastard laughs in his face and says, "We need someone who can contribute creatively to our band. Someone who can really feel out the _sound._" Fucking asshole, emphasizing the word _sound. _Logan might not be able to hear someone talking, but he knows when a word is drawn out, mocking. Fuck him.

Logan doesn't need to be in a band to be a musician; he can fucking write sheet music, craft fucking arrangements that would make that prick's head spin. He's more of a musician than that dick will ever be.

_Boom-crack-ba boom boom-crack, boom-crack-ba boom boom-crack_

He finishes out, beating the toms and snares and cymbals so fast the sound is practically a purr. Logan is out of breath and panting and exhausted. He stands slowly, gathering up his things on shaky legs. When he turns to exit the practice room, he glances up at the door and is shocked to see Camille standing there.

"Are you stalking me?" Logan asks.

Camille just stares at him, some weird expression on her face. "You're really fucking good," she breathes, her lips barely moving.

"What?"

She signs, _You're really _fucking _good._

"For a deaf guy?" Logan adds for her because he's still a little angry, maybe the tiniest bit bitter, but he's quickly shrugging it off like he always does after he plays.

"No, like, you're really fucking good for _anybody._" If she's offended by his tone she doesn't show it, but she does pick up on the fact he's angry.

_Do you want to talk about it? _she signs.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

"I was looking for you." She comes closer to him and Logan backs away from her.

"Why?"

Camille's expression shifts to something almost like hurt at Logan's retreat from her. She starts digging in her bag and pulls out a folded flyer, unfolds it and holds it out in Logan's direction. He looks at the paper without taking it. Logan trains his eyes on Camille's mouth, waiting on an explanation.

"This really pretty guy was at my dorm today, and he said his band is looking for a drummer." She shakes the flyer at him. "You should show them what you've got."

Logan immediately crinkles his nose and makes a disgusted noise. "Hell, no."

"What? Logan, you're unbelievably good, and this guy was so nice."

"Of course, he was nice, you're a pretty girl."

"Aw, you think I'm pretty?" Camille smiles wide before shaking her head. "Anyway, why shouldn't you?"

"Camille…" Logan starts, her name hissed between his teeth. Part of him wants to snap and shout and tell her to mind her own business, but he's not that guy. He's not the jerk who takes things out on almost-strangers.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Camille asks again.

_No, _Logan wants to say. _No, because that would mean letting you know I get upset sometimes and that would mean you comforting me and that would mean we're becoming friends and I can't have friends because friendship isn't a real thing because people are always really just looking out for themselves and what they want so why not skip the pretense and just look out for myself?_

Instead, Logan says, "I tried out for a band today and when they found out I can't hear they didn't want to know anymore about me."

"Oh, Logan." Camille doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms around Logan's shoulders, hug him close. Logan doesn't admit it makes him feel better. When she finally lets him go, she signs, _Sometimes, people are assholes, but I'm not. You can trust me._

Logan doesn't think people in general are trustworthy, he never has, but for the first time, he really hopes he's wrong.

* * *

**End note: Next chapter, Kendall and Logan finally meet. **


	4. Crossing Paths

**Author's Note: **I'm seriously overwhelmed with the positive response, guys. Thank you so much. Now, this chapter kind of gives away the fact I was a band geek. Ha. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

-L-

"I don't understand why you want to keep it a secret from everyone here at school, but you told that band first thing," Camille says. They're sitting by one of the fountains on campus; it's getting late and dark so they're signing and speaking. Logan keeps his eyes peeled for any approaching students, and whenever one passes by, it causes a lull in conversation. Normally it would be awkward, but it's not, Logan taking the quiet moments to dip his fingers in the cool water, feel the vibration of the mechanisms keeping the flow going.

He's over the rejection now. If there's one thing Logan has learned from years and years of being different, it's how to cope and move on.

"If I'm supposed to spend so much time with them, how would I have kept it secret?" Logan says.

"But how is keeping it from them and keeping it from everyone else any different?"

Logan thinks that one over. No, he doesn't want to be anything but honest, but no one goes around asking _How's your hearing? _except for Camille, obviously.

"It just never comes up, okay? I mean, if it did, I wouldn't _lie _about it." Logan grows frustrated with himself, trying to get his point across. "Look, I know there will come a point in some of my music oriented classes where people will notice, but, for now, my professors know and that's enough."

"Then why don't you audition for this band," she pulls the flyer out of her bag again, thrusting it into Logan's lap, "and wait to tell them until after you've proved how amazing you are? Just a few practices."

"I don't know, Camille –"

"It's just like the other students, right? They don't need to know until they _need _to know?"

Logan gingerly picks up the flyer, smooths out the wrinkles against the stone bench on which they sit. _The Musical Journey Starts Here _it says. Cheesy, but the words also bring back that dreamlike feeling Logan experienced the first time he felt the drumbeats from that music store when he just a kid. There are multiple strips on the bottom, each with a phone number printed across it.

Logan laughs. "I think you were just supposed to tear off one strip and leave the flyer."

"I know," Camille replies, "but I wanted less competition for you. That was until I heard you play and found out you don't need any help."

He looks at her a long time, her smile never faltering. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I like you, Logan Mitchell." She reaches out and touches the tip of his nose. "And you deserve an awesome friend like me, I can tell."

Returning her comment with a closed-mouth smile, Logan's eyes return to the flyer, tracing a finger along the bold, black letters. His brain is telling him this is a bad idea, that he should really give up on the whole rock star dream, that keeping a secret from this band is a bad idea, but there's a tug in his chest, some new tune coming to life, the beat of his heart the perfect accompaniment.

"I'll think about this," Logan says, finally.

"Good." Camille pulls Logan to his feet. "So what are you plans for this weekend?"

"Study. Practice. Why?"

"Because I have a feeling you've yet to really see L.A.," Camille says, eyebrows wiggling mischievously.

-K-

Kendall strolls through the disorganized aisles of the music shop with an extra bounce in his step, a flourish of his wrist as he dusts some old instruments.

He can say, without a doubt, how proud he is of James and Carlos. Not only did they pass out all the flyers, but they even made more. They were crudely crafted, hand-made ones, but still. Kendall appreciates the effort. It just reminds him how serious they are about this, especially when time is ticking away. They've been in this town for three full months now, and progress needs to be made.

Once Kendall has finished dusting, he amuses himself by trying to make some sound come out of an old, beat-up sousaphone. He really loves this job, despite the boredom he finds – without fail – every Saturday evening. The shop sells everything from used band equipment to old CDs, cassettes and vinyl. The only thing new about it is the magazine rack, complete with anything from _Rolling Stone _to _Banjo Bi-Annual _(Kendall finds the second needs dusting frequently, which he's offended by because the banjo is so underappreciated). He really doesn't know how the place stays in business. Kendall is convinced the old man who runs the shop is loaded and can afford to keep this place going on a whim.

He's just getting a sound to come from the sousaphone that sounds like some crazy farts, when the bell on the door chimes. A couple comes in, laughing and smiling and heading straight toward the display window.

"Were you talking about this xylophone?" the girl asks, climbing into the display and bringing down the instrument.

"Camille!" the guy says, glancing around the shop, presumably afraid of getting in trouble. Kendall doesn't mind, so long as they don't go around breaking stuff. The guy's eyes go wide when he catches sight of Kendall, the sousaphone still over his head and around his waist.

"It's a glockenspiel," Kendall and the guy say at the same time. The guy smiles at Kendall, a short, loud burst of laughter escaping him when he realizes they said the same thing. The way the guy's face looks, all dimples and white teeth and big brown eyes, causes this pang of familiarity so strong in Kendall that he has to take a deep breath.

"Jinx," Kendall says. He knows he's staring like a dummy, but he's trying to figure out why he knows this guy, where he's seen him before. The girl, Camille, looks back and forth between the two guys before she elbows the brown-haired guy in the stomach. Kendall shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. It's only when he finds the action difficult he realizes he's still wearing a sousaphone.

"You play that thing?" the guy asks Kendall.

Kendall laughs, his cheeks warming up ever so slightly, before he answers, "Just messing around." He turns to the side. "Does this make me look fat?"

The guy cocks his head to the side, the corners of his mouth turning downward as he scrutinizes Kendall up and down. Kendall isn't one to get embarrassed, but he feels even more a blush creeping up from his chest. "It's actually very figure flattering. I'd say no one has worn a sousaphone quite as well as you."

"Thanks," Kendall says, finally pulling the instrument over his head and putting it on the counter with a loud thud. "I think I'll go for a standard tuba next time. More slimming."

Camille elbows the guy again, and he gives her an exasperated look. Kendall approaches the couple and Camille sighs. "This is Logan," she says, patting the brunet on the shoulder. She cups her hand beside her mouth, adding, "And he's amazing in every single way."

Kendall laughs at the comment, because what's he supposed to say to that? Logan looks to Camille with slanted eyes and a questioning expression. She waves her hand in an odd way, her thumb and forefinger making an _L _shape. Logan's eyes narrow further, and she just keeps smiling at him.

"So," Kendall starts, interrupting the odd exchange, "you play the glockenspiel?" He picks up the discarded bell lyre and moves it to the counter.

"Who doesn't?" Logan replies, following Kendall to where the instrument sits, tapping a few of the cool, metal bars with his knuckles.

Kendall turns his back on the couple to find some mallets saying, "I know, right?" He finds what he's looking for and returns to Logan, handing over the two mallets. Logan gives him a long look with raised eyebrows.

"Well…give it a go," Kendall urges. He suddenly remembers he's supposed to be trying to sell stuff, not just mess around, so he adds, "It's a damn fine instrument."

Logan smiles again, and Kendall finds himself wanting to scoot closer to him, see if he smells as lovely as his grin appears. He's got this artfully messy hair, and Kendall wonders what it would look like first thing in the morning when it's just messy sans artful.

Kendall thinks he really needs to start dating. He must be hard up if he's having such dreamy thoughts about a straight dude who is obviously taken. Who has the time for that though? James does, he quickly answers to himself, and he can't help but laugh.

"What is it?" Logan asks.

"Oh nothing," Kendall answers quickly, "my mental train just really needs to be derailed sometimes. Anyway," he gestures to the bells again, "show me what you've got."

Logan shrugs in a _why the hell not? _sort of fashion, and starts to play. The first few notes are tentative, like he doesn't know if he should bang the fuck out of the ancient looking thing. He stops and looks at Kendall.

"Beat the hell out of 'em, dude," Kendall replies to the unasked question.

So Logan does, he _really _fucking does, and once he's warmed up, his hands are flying like hummingbird wings and he's playing something Kendall has no idea what it is, but damn if he doesn't kill it. Kendall rips his eyes from Logan's hands, and he's really glad he does, because Logan has this million fucking megawatt smile on his face. Camille is just giggling behind them, and Kendall finds himself quickly joining in, because who has ever rocked a glockenspiel?

When he's done, he calmly hands the mallets back to Kendall who stares at him with his mouth open.

"What else do you play, man?" Kendall asks, the awe ridiculously clear in his voice, and he has the urge to facepalm.

Logan laughs softly. "I usually like to play things that are loud," he answers, smirking.

-K-

Kendall leads Logan around the shop like a little kid, dragging him by the wrist to every percussion instrument they have to offer. Hand bells, tambourines, crash cymbals, timpani, bongos, snares. There's even an old gong in the back room Kendall wants Logan to hit, just to see if it sounds better when he does it. And it totally does. Crazy. Logan really seems to like that gong, because he hits it at least five times before Kendall takes the mallet from him, giggling at Logan's excitement like Kendall were a pre-teen girl.

"How are you even a real person?" Kendall asks, leading Logan back to the front counter. Camille's standing there, playfully banging the glockenspiel. When Logan doesn't answer, he turns around toward him expectantly.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

"Yeah, how are you even a real person? Where did you come from?"

"Texas, just outside of Dallas," Logan answers simply.

"Texas, huh?" Some memory surfaces at the word, and Kendall feels this old lingering incomplete _thing _he can't really put a name to. "You don't have a funny accent."

"Well, I, uh, see it – "

"It comes out when he gets angry or excited," Camille interrupts.

Kendall smiles. "I always wanted a friend with a twang." He's overcome again by how familiar Logan is, how he feels like he could sit next to Logan in a quiet room and just _be. _

Logan furrows his brow and Kendall realizes he's been staring again.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Kendall asks.

Logan shakes his head, "Just from the glockenspiel, the bongos, the snare, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera."

There's some niggling in Kendall's mind, like there's something else he should be asking this guy, something else going on he needs to know about. He's having trouble thinking because of that weird cloud of unexplainable déjà vu lingering in the air.

"Look, I'm not trying to hit on you or anything," Kendall starts, "because I can see you've got a really pretty girlfriend here –"

"She's not my girlfriend," Logan is quick to remark. "I mean, she _is _a girl, and we're f-friends, I guess." He looks to Camille and she nods.

Kendall feels like a dumbass for being excited. He's honestly just looking to make Logan his friend. He has to. The idea of simply letting him walk out the door makes Kendall feel something like hopeless. Think of all the awesome noise Logan will make that Kendall would miss out on.

"Anyway," Kendall says, a small smile curling his mouth, "I'm still not trying to hit on you, but…if I give you my number will you call me sometime? I'm not even asking for yours because I don't want to creep you out. No pressure, okay? I just want to hang out sometime, bang on some drums."

Logan glances at Camille again who nods. His cheeks flush, and he diverts his eyes to his feet. Kendall is pretty sure his heart skips a little. Either that, or he's still feeling all the beats reverberating in the air from Logan's playing.

Maybe Kendall_ is_ hitting on Logan.

"Sure," Logan replies. "But I'm more of a texter."

"That's no problem." Kendall resists the urge to grab Logan's hand and pen his number there, just as an excuse to touch the other guy, instead finding a business card for the music shop. He scribbles his name and number on the back and hands it to Logan.

"Kendall," Logan says, as though he's trying out the name in his mouth.

"I'm so rude, aren't I? You've been in here for an hour and I haven't even introduced myself."

"It's cool," Logan says.

Kendall holds out his hand. "Hi, I'm Kendall."

"I'm Logan," he laughs, taking Kendall's hand. Maybe Kendall imagines it, but it seems like Logan hangs on to him just a little longer than normal, and there's this inexplicable sensation of _something _aligning and coming together.

Kendall, again, thinks he really needs to get out more. His mental train must be hauling cheese.

Once Logan is gone and Kendall is just staring off into space, a stupid shit-eating grin on his face, he notices the flyers taped on the door. The flyers for _his _band who is in sore need of a drummer. A fucking fantastic drummer, _just like Logan. _

He's pretty sure the sound of his head hitting the counter rivals the sound of that gong.

-L-

"That guy was totally hitting on you," Camille says within minutes of exiting the shop.

"Camille, he said he wasn't. He made a point of letting me know that," Logan answers. Like he would know. He's had more social interaction in the last week than he has over his whole life. Logan might be a genius, but he's shit at interacting with people.

"You were flirting with him."

"I was not!" Logan protests.

"Oh, yeah right." Camille lowers her voice an octave and mocks, "_I'd say no one has worn a sousaphone quite as well as you._ Because that's totally _not _flirting."

"How is it flirting if it's true?"

Camille rolls her eyes and signs, _Logan's in love with the music shop guy!, _over and over until Logan playfully slaps her hands down.

Once back on campus, they go to Logan's dorm to chat.

_Are you going to call him? _Camille signs.

_Probably not, _Logan admits.

_What? Logan, you _have _to._

_I don't have time, Camille. I have to work twice as hard as everyone else if I'm ever going to make it here and I just can't have dis—_

_Shush, _Camille signs, _you have the talent of at least ten average music students here, if not more. Did you see Kendall's face when you were playing?_

_No, I was watching the instruments, duh._

_Don't get snippy, _Camille chides. She scoots in close to Logan, takes his hands in hers and says, "It's not a crime to have a social life, okay? There are some awesome people in this town, and I'm pretty sure we just met one of the awesomest_. _Not to mention cutest. Did you see his crazy eyebrows?"

Logan laughs and moves his hands from Camille's. He pulls the card out of his pocket, looks down at Kendall's name and number. He traces the indentations on the paper, something sparking his memory. The number seems familiar. He stands and goes to his desk, picks up the discarded flyer for the band looking for a drummer. Glancing from the card to the paper, the card to the paper, Logan realizes it's the same number.

"Look," Logan says, holding the two pieces of paper so Camille can see them.

"Well, I'll be damned," Camille says, noticing what Logan already did. Camille's hands go to Logan's shoulders and he's pretty sure she squeals. She squeezes him unnaturally hard and jumps up and down.

"Why are you so excited?" Logan asks, wondering how he got himself involved with this over-the-top girl.

"Because, don't you see?" she asks.

"See what?"

"It's fate!" Jumping up and down again, she begins to laugh.

"I don't believe in fate." He holds the flyer and card out again so he can read the numbers, double-checking to ensure no mistake has been made. "Only coincidence."

"You are such a cynic, Logan. But you have to admit, it's a strange coincidence."

"You're right about that," Logan concedes, frowning.

Camille rips the papers from Logan's hand and clutches them to her chest. "You _have _to audition now. You just _have _to."

Logan merely looks at her, straight-faced and serious. Truth be told, he _did _feel something for Kendall, but since he's so stupid when it comes to human relationships, he can't put his finger on what that thing was. It was like the first, heavy beat of the bass drum or the clang of a cymbal. A feeling that didn't hesitate to present itself. It woke him up, like the salty smell of the air rolling off the ocean. Something big, intangible.

So Logan nods at Camille, slowly, cautionary, as though his agreement were a delicate thing.

"Why didn't he mention it?" Logan asks.

Camille gets serious, places the now crumpled papers back in Logan's hands. _Logan, I think he was a little starstruck, _she answers.

Logan remembers something, and his head snaps to Camille's face. "What did you tell him in there anyway? When you were hiding your mouth from me?"

Camille smirks. "Nothing he didn't find out for himself."

-L-

By Monday night, Logan works up the courage to text Kendall. He thought about what to say all day Sunday, and he practices potential conversations in his head all through Monday. He figures he needs to just get it over with since he's having such a hard time concentrating on his studies. Should he text him about hanging out, or solely about auditioning for his band? He resists the urge to have Camille with him when he contacts the blond, just because he's honestly scared shitless. What is he expecting anyway? He's not, like, _interested _in Kendall or anything. Hell, he's not even sure he likes guys. In the past, Logan has always easily avoided any kind of interaction which might produce any type of attraction. He's fine on his own, thanks much.

But Kendall's eyes were this really cool shade of green. Not even really green, per se, but a color Logan can't even name. Like summer grass with yellow flowers and patches of earth between.

_Ugh, stop, _Logan thinks. Kendall can't like Logan anyway. He doesn't know everything yet.

Finally, once he's settled in after dinner and done with his schoolwork, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. He finally opens a new message to Kendall on the screen of his phone.

_So you didn't tell me you were in a band. This is Logan from the other night, by the way. I found one of your flyers on campus._

Logan's heart is thrumming as he lays the phone down on his chest; he can visibly see the phone trembling from the pounding. He laughs, realizing how ridiculous this is.

He doesn't wait long before his phone vibrates that he has a reply.

_Sorry! I don't know what I was thinking. I'm so glad 2 hear from U. U want 2 join?_

Wow. Logan thinks this is all too easy. He's about to reply when another text comes through.

_My friends James and Carlos would need to approve but I can't see them saying no._

If possible, Logan's heart speeds at the thought of actually _auditioning. _Three musicians scrutinizing him. Three musicians he's going to keep a secret from.

It's just for a few practices, he reminds himself, many times over.

_When could we all meet? _Logan presses send with a shaky index finger, a slow breath expelled past his lips. The reply is almost immediate.

_Is now too soon? Tonight?_


	5. By Ear

**Author's Note: **Hey, guys! How's it goin'? Good? Good. Thanks for the love you've been sending my way. My feels for all of you are through the roof right now. My feels in general are uncontrollable anymore. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think.

-L-

Parking his car in front of the tiny house, Logan's stomach twists in trepidation. Kendall had offered to pay Logan's cab fare, which Logan thought very gracious, but there was no reason Logan couldn't just drive. Of course, he isn't familiar with L.A. yet, at all, so the offer was tempting. Logan couldn't let an almost-stranger do that for him though; cab fare is super expensive.

There had been a lot to see on the thirty minute drive; too bad Logan was too focused on gripping the steering wheel with bruising force to notice. He's holding it tightly still, his knuckles bright white against the gray interior of his car. His foot is tapping out an accompaniment to the pounding in his chest, and he's practicing his percussion without even realizing it.

"I should be at home sleeping," he mumbles to himself. "It's not like I don't have a class first thing in the morning."

It's not a good start to the relationship if Logan already can't refuse the blond guy. How will he react when Kendall starts asking him questions about himself? And how dumb is it to go to some area of town he doesn't know, just to meet up with three practical strangers? Logan thinks he could wind up beaten, raped and mugged by morning. He dismisses the thought as swiftly as it comes on, because there's something in Kendall he trusts, as unlikely as it should be.

He sits so long that Kendall comes outside and knocks on the window of Logan's car. He jumps when he feels the slight vibration through his grip on the steering wheel, and he turns to see Kendall smiling at him through the glass pane.

"You planning on sitting out here all night?" Kendall says, his face illuminated by the yellow street light. Logan shakes his head and pulls his keys from the ignition, opens the door and slides out of the car. He stands in front of Kendall for a moment, Kendall wearing pajama pants and a plaid button-up shirt. Logan is struck by how laid back the other guy seems. Like he could fit in anywhere. Like skyscrapers could fall down around him and he wouldn't be moved by it. Logan wonders what it's like to be that confident, and he's feeling more than a little overdressed in his sweater vest.

Kendall finally breaks the silence. "Sorry to spring this on you. It just probably would've been the weekend before we all could get together again."

Logan shrugs. "It's no big deal."

"I'm sorry," Kendall apologizes again. "That's kind of a lie. I _kind of_ wanted to hang out with you sooner rather than later. Is that creepy? Oh god, I'm totally creeping you out, aren't I?"

"No, dude, no. It's fine. Although, I'm wondering if maybe I should be creeped out as much as you worry I am." Logan laughs in an awkward, nervous way and shoves his hands in his pockets. It's nice, someone wanting to spend time with him. It's not something he's had before. Sure, Camille seeks him out, makes him do things he wouldn't normally, but this seems different somehow. More _welcome. _

"Yeah, but no," Kendall says, "I don't want to creep you out."

"You're not, and I appreciate your honesty." Logan nods – genteel – smiles and tries to swallow down the guilt rising in his throat.

"Come on in and meet James and Carlos," Kendall says, ushering Logan to the door of the small house. They stand on the porch and Kendall looks Logan up and down, causing Logan to fidget.

"You nervous?" Kendall asks.

Logan doesn't lie about it. "Yeah, just a lot."

"Don't be." Kendall makes a dismissive gesture with his hands, his mouth quirking halfway. "These guys are clowns and you're awesome. I bet you even eat with rhythm."

"Really?"

"Absolutely, man. Just now, when you walked up to the porch, it was in perfect time. Even your steps groove."

"Huh." Logan has one of those moments where he wishes he could hear, wishes he could remember what his footfalls sounded like, wishes he could remember the sound of his mother's voice, wishes he could hear Kendall's voice now. There's no time to feel sorry for himself though, not anymore. "I've never noticed."

Kendall gets this unfocused look on his face – which Logan has quickly realized happens often – and he's just kind of staring in the direction of Logan's mouth. Logan crosses his eyes and looks down, wondering if he has a booger or something stuck in his teeth. Kendall says, "I have a feeling there's a lot about yourself you don't notice."

Logan snorts. "What does that even mean?"

Before answering, Kendall steps closer to Logan, close enough so that Logan smells the laundry detergent on Kendall's clothes, the soap on his skin. He's close enough that Logan can see Kendall's eyes dilate, the color of his iris shifting like a firework. Kendall opens his mouth to speak.

Logan assumes Kendall is interrupted by a noise from indoors because he jumps and looks at the house. Kendall is shaken from whatever daze he was in, and he says, "Uh, guess we'd better get in there." Opening the door, he gestures for Logan to go inside.

"You first," Logan says, standing back. Kendall laughs but understands, leading Logan indoors.

The entryway leads right into a moderately sized living room, and Logan notices immediately they don't have a couch but numerous bean bag chairs scattered throughout. There's no TV, nothing on the walls but a poster of Wayne Gretsky that looks older than Logan. An old wooden bar separates the living room from the kitchen and on it there appear to be some family photos.

Kendall notices Logan observing the surroundings. "It's not much, but it's home."

"It's everything I'd expect from three guys living on their own," Logan replies.

Kendall snorts. "You should see the Carlos shaped hole in the wall in the bedroom."

Logan's eyes go wide. "You guys all share a bedroom?"

"Well, there's only the one so we kind of have to."

"Are you guys, like, uh…you know?"

"What?" Kendall asks, brows furrowing but the pleasant smirk still firmly planted on his face.

"Are you guys like a big couple?" Logan whispers.

Kendall laughs out loud, throwing his arms over his middle as he doubles over. "First of a-all," Kendall gets out, hiccupping laughter in between, "ew, I've known those guys since we were practically in utero, so, ew, no. Second of all, doesn't a couple indicate two people? And here I thought you were a genius."

"I said a _big _couple," Logan answers, his face fire hot.

"Carlos and James have bunk beds. I'm in a twin. They're my best friends in the whole world. I love them, but not like _that._"

Okay, so, maybe it's a little strange to Logan; he didn't have friends growing up so he has no idea how friendship works. There's some longing along with Logan's confusion there, too, because the way Kendall talks about his friends seeps affection in every syllable.

What must that be like? To have someone who knows the way you work, finishes your sentences, loves you because they want to instead of some familial obligation.

_Somebody else to pity me, _Logan thinks, trying his best to let the idea of real friendship roll off his back.

There's another bang so loud Logan feels the house move, glances toward the door to what he assumes is the bedroom. Kendall puts a hand over his eyes and shakes his head. "Sorry," he says, "they can get pretty wild sometimes."

The door to the bedroom flies open and a short, tan guy comes bolting out, a helmet on his head. Quick on his heels is a very tall brunet who is almost too pretty to actually exist. They're both in pajamas and t-shirts, and Logan is really beginning to wonder why he even bothered getting dressed.

The duo proceeds to chase each other around the living room, the tall brunet shouting something at the smaller, although Logan isn't quite sure what he's saying because he's moving so fast. Maybe something about a comb? They come running straight at Logan, so he tries to jump out of the way and ends up almost knocking Kendall down. Logan is apologizing and trying to quickly back away, because he doesn't want to let himself figure out how nice it feels to be so close to Kendall, and he winds up tripping over the other guy's feet. And Kendall must have some extremely quick reflexes because he wraps his arms around Logan's shoulders before he has the chance to fall. He straightens himself quickly, gets his feet back under himself.

"You okay?" Kendall laughs. "I keep having to apologize for those guys, don't I?" Logan shakes his head, eyes going to his hands fisted in the front of Kendall's shirt, and he becomes ridiculously aware of Kendall's hands gripping his shoulders, the heat of the other guy's palms soaking into his shoulders. He lets go of Kendall reluctantly and steps out of his hold.

"Carlos!" Kendall shouts, "James!" Logan watches the tightness of Kendall's neck, the movement of his throat at the change in volume. The noise in the house is loud enough so Logan hears that indecipherable hum.

James and Carlos stop fighting each other long enough to look in Kendall and Logan's direction. "What are you guys fighting about now?" Kendall asks.

"Carlos is holding Lucky hostage again!" James is quick to answer.

"Yeah, well, James ate my last corn dog!" Carlos replies.

Kendall says something back to them, and then the three of them are all talking so fast, Logan can't keep up. He's getting words here and there, but they're all talking at the same time. Logan feels that fear and guilt bubble expanding in his stomach, his chest, because how can he ever keep up the charade of being a normal, hearing guy when these three are obviously crazy?

Still, Logan likes them, all three of them. Seeing them together, arguing but without apparent malice, their movements almost appearing choreographed, has Logan yearning to be a part of it, have a family by choice. It's so strange, the way they're standing, almost as though leaving a spot for Logan to join in the argument if he wanted. He's never felt so welcome despite the fact he is being completely ignored. And suddenly, he's not so nervous to play for them anymore, yet he's feeling even worse about keeping secrets.

"Stop!" Kendall shouts. The other two arguing guys stop talking. "James, buy more corndogs tomorrow. Carlos, give James his comb back." They both roll their eyes and huff, but agree. "Now apologize and hug it out."

Carlos and James let loose their crossed arms and reluctantly embrace each other.

"Now, this is Logan," Kendall says, gesturing in Logan's direction with both arms.

"Oh, hi, Logan!" Carlos exclaims, moving in and shaking Logan's hand. "I didn't even see you there. I'm Carlos." Carlos is exuberant and boyish, his smile brilliant against his dark skin. Everything about him seems warm, and Logan likes him immediately, returning the bright grin.

"Nice to meet you, Carlos."

"And I'm James." James steps in front of Carlos, taking Logan's hand and giving him – what Logan assumes should be – a charming smile. "I'm digging the sweater vest, man."

"Uh, thanks?"

"No, I mean it," James says. "You're handsome too, but not handsomer than me, so that's great."

Logan doesn't know how he should take that comment.

Kendall cuts in front of James and says, "Logan, from James that's a huge compliment. The most I've gotten from him is _your face is unique, _so yeah."

"Oh, huh, okay," Logan replies, an awkward smile on his face at the scrutiny. "You guys ready to play?"

"Yeah, I am!" Carlos interjects. "It'll be fun."

They lead him into a room off the kitchen. It's about the size of a normal bedroom but there are shelves all around. It's not quite a basement, but more like a big –

"This is our Pantry of Perfect Pitch," Kendall says, arms held out wide. "And there's your drum kit."

James stands up straight, jabs an index finger in the air. "Not his _yet. _We have standards."

Kendall laughs and leans in to Logan, whispers something in his ear. When Kendall pulls back, he's smiling, so Logan just smiles back, his stomach churning with remorse and something else. Something else from the way Kendall's breath was so warm on Logan's skin.

Logan walks over to the drum kit and lets out a long, low whistle. "These drums have seen better days."

James goes to stand next to Logan and look at the drums. "It's all Carlos's fault."

"It is not, James, and you _know _it!"

"Guys, guys, just stop it!" Kendall shouts, immediately quieting the other two guys.

"Anyway," James starts, "if, _if _we like how you sound you can bring your drums over." Then he smiles, as though he's being horribly sweet and generous. He hands the drumsticks over to Logan who thinks maybe James is a little self-absorbed.

"So what are we playing?" Logan asks, settling down on the drummer's throne, moving to check the tightness of the tension rods, lazily tapping one of the sticks on the drum head.

"Is 'Semi-Charmed Life' okay? Do you know that one?" Kendall asks. "I'm kind of a '90s alternative nerd." Logan is pretty sure Kendall tries to look apologetic but can't quite pull it off, his dimples deepening despite his pursed lips.

Truth be told, Logan is only a lot thrilled that Kendall has chosen that particular Third Eye Blind song. It's got an amazing, fun beat and Logan actually remembers what it sounded like. His mother would turn the sound up, just a little, when it came on the radio, until she actually listened to the lyrics. After that, she would turn it down. Logan couldn't have been more than four or five when the song was popular, but he remembers it made him want to jump up and down and move. Naturally, it was one of the first songs Logan wanted to learn on the drums simply because it had been shunned by his mother. That's how parenting works. If a parent wants their kids to do something, just tell them not to.

"Yeah, that's fine, man. I guess you could say I'm a '90s alternative nerd, too, since…" he stops himself before saying anything about his accident, anything about pop songs from the '90s and early 2000s being the only true music he remembers in full.

"Since what?" Kendall asks.

"Nothing really. Just since those are some of the first songs I remember," Logan replies, in turn trying to keep a straight face and failing. It's enough truth so that Logan can feel okay about it. Besides, he's grinning, excited, because he knows even on these shoddy old drums, he's about to blow the guys away.

Carlos straps on his bass and plugs it into a small amp to Logan's left; to the right Kendall does the same with his guitar. James adjusts his microphone, making sure all the connections are good to go. Logan can feel the shift in the air when the amps are powered on, the electric buzz making his hands itch to start pounding out the rhythm.

"I feel like I should mention I've never played with a live band before," Logan says once everyone is settled and staring at him, waiting on him to do something.

"That's no problem, Logan," Kendall answers, because Logan was looking at him for a response. "Just count us in whenever you're ready."

"On three?" Logan asks. Kendall nods and Logan returns it, takes a deep breath before raising his sticks, hitting them against each other and setting the rhythm.

"One, two, three..." Logan says, hoping he's loud enough, and then he's off, pounding out the first few strikes before he's accompanied by the others.

Logan was worried the bass wouldn't be loud enough for him to really feel, but he gets the groove easily, Carlos slapping the strings and moving his head in time with Logan's beat. James sings and Kendall is backing him up, and the different sounds in the air flow through the equipment, into the ground and travel into Logan. The old, wooden floor is perfect, carrying the reverberation of the voices and instruments straight into Logan's chest and head, and he wants to close his eyes and bask in it.

He thought the thrill of playing on his own was something, really something, but the pleasure of playing with a live band jolts straight up Logan's spine, through his arms and down to his fingertips as he pounds away. He is joy and sound and strength and drum strikes and bliss and _normal. _No, Logan thinks, he is better than normal. This is what it feels like to be extraordinary.

When Carlos drops out on the bass a few bars, and it's just Logan and Kendall playing, James singing, Logan looks to Kendall who is giving him one of those weird stares again, just grinning at Logan like an idiot. Logan gives him a dopey grin right back, because this is fantastic. And Logan is smiling and pretending these guys are his best friends and that he's known them his whole life and he can hear the sounds they're making together. Logan almost thinks he _can_ hear them all clearly, James' voice smooth yet powerful, Carlos's playful bass, Kendall's intense guitar, Logan guiding them along with every strike.

Logan isn't ready for the song to end, but it does. When the music stops is always the moment Logan fears the most, because the quiet in his head that comes after is often frightening, reminds him how alone he is.

But he's not alone now.

-K-

Kendall is dumbstruck. He can do nothing but grin when the song is finished, and he knows he's doing that creepy staring thing again, but he just can't stop. Because something about Logan and music just makes the guy look so fucking happy, and it fills up the room ratcheting up Kendall's joy. He's always loved music, loves making it, but Logan obviously breathes it, lives it. And watching Logan while he joyfully beat on the drum kit, his knee bouncing up and down as he banged the bass drum, made Kendall want to know everything about him. His favorite color, his middle name, the day he started playing, his birthday and maybe whether or not he's ever picked out names for potential children.

"That was amazing!" Carlos exclaims, tripping over cords and making his way to Logan, pounding him on the shoulder. Logan is obviously breathless, riding high on exhilaration because he only smiles, dimples on flushed cheeks.

"I think we need a band meeting to discuss this," James interrupts, gesturing to the kitchen with his head.

"What is there to discuss?" Kendall asks.

James, straight-faced and serious, replies, "To discuss whether or not we want Logan in the band, of course."

Kendall usually isn't bothered by James' foolery, his mock-seriousness, but something about the fact James feels the issue even needs discussing makes him almost angry. Annoyed.

"James, don't be an assho –"

"No, it's fine," Logan jumps in. "He's right. You guys should talk about it. Would it be rude if I asked for something to drink?"

"Not at all," Kendall says. He's still side-eyeing James. They _need _Logan in their band. "There's bottled water and soda in the refrigerator. Help yourself."

As soon as Logan exits the room, James says, "He's great. But I think we should see if he can play along with one of our original songs on the fly."

"James, does that really matter?" Kendall objects.

"Yes, it matters. We're not going to be doing covers our whole career."

"I don't think he'd mind, Kendall. And I'm sure he can do it," Carlos says, taking over Kendall's general role of peacekeeper.

"I just don't want to scare him off," Kendall says, looking down to his feet and busying himself with kicking around a cord.

"Why does it matter anyway?" James asks.

"Can't you feel he belongs with us?" Kendall answers, head snapping up and meeting James' eyes.

"I can!" Carlos interjects.

"Is that what this feeling is?" James asks. "I just thought Carlos's corndog was funky."

"Shut up, James," Kendall says.

"I kind of feel like he's hiding something," James remarks, forefinger and thumb cradling his chin.

"That's because we just have to get to know him." Kendall gets offended on Logan's behalf, his annoyance growing. James holds up his hands in defense.

"I like him, too, man, but I'm just saying," James says. "Are we bringing him back in here or what?"

"Sure, yeah, fine."

Carlos goes to get Logan and brings him back, and Logan readily agrees to make an accompaniment for one of their original songs. However, there is some strain behind his eyes Kendall spots, something more going on that almost makes Kendall believe James is right. He quickly forgets it though, because James isn't right very often.

"There's just one thing," Logan says, "and you guys might think it's weird."

"O-kay," James says.

Logan fidgets a little, and it's so damn cute, before he says, "Could you guys play it through once so I can feel the whole thing before joining in?"

"Yes, no problem," Kendall readily agrees.

"Wait, what's so weird about that?" Carlos asks.

"Well, while you're playing, would it be okay if I put my hands on the speakers?" Logan says, noticing the perplexed looks he gets, he quickly adds, "It's kind of a ritual thing for me."

"Ah, okay. No, ritual isn't weird. Carlos won't play without his helmet on and James insists he can't wear socks and sing at the same time," Kendall says.

"Good," Logan breathes, appearing relieved. "Just go ahead and start and don't mind me."

Kendall counts them in and they start to play, and he really tries _not _to stare at Logan. It's fucking difficult because he's getting on his knees at Carlos's bass amp and running his hands across it with crazy concentration etched into his face. He's frowning and intense and Kendall wants to know what that feels like. After a few moments of hands on the amp, Logan lowers himself further and presses a cheek to the top, one hand on the speaker and the other on the back. Then he closes his eyes and Kendall thinks he might be asleep until he sits up quickly, moves to the amp Kendall is plugged to and repeats the whole thing.

He finally breaks away from staring at Logan because he can feel James' eyes boring into his head. He glances over at James who is quirking a brow at him. Kendall just shakes his head and decides to keep his eyes on his fingers.

When the song is over, Logan rises to his feet and says, "That's a great song. Would it be too forward to make a suggestion?"

Kendall, who wrote the song, shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. "I'm no stranger to concrit," he says, pointedly looking at James.

Logan laughs, low and fond. "I think if you keyed it up one it would feel better. It's a bit low for the vocals. That's it."

Kendall quickly toys with his guitar, plucks a few strings and strums a few chords in a higher key. James hums along with him.

"Huh. I think you're right," Kendall says.

"You guys wanna try it that way?" Logan asks, turning to Carlos looking for his approval as well. He gains it easily, and Logan bounds over to the drum kit and settles in.

"On three?" Logan asks.

"On three," Kendall replies.

Logan kills it, just like Kendall knew he would. There is only a place or two where Logan trips up, but it wouldn't be noticeable if not for the fact that Logan pounds the snare a little harder, the toms a little louder after the misstep, as though he has something to prove, as though he's trying to make up for the imperceptible mistake.

And it's even better than the first song they all played together, because this sound is _theirs. _Not manufactured of borrowed. They all come together and flow apart and play like their lives depend on it, and it's beautiful and scary and everything Kendall could've dreamed when they moved to California. Even if they are never famous, Kendall thinks, it's been worth it just to jam with his favorite people in the world.

It's strange that Kendall would count Logan amongst his favorite people, but he doesn't hesitate to do so. Logan is here now, and it's like he always has been.

When they are finished, the last reverb echoing in the air, Logan touches the cymbal to stop the ringing. First he looks at Kendall, then Carlos, finally James.

"Am I in?" he asks. Kendall and Carlos look to James also, because it's really his approval they're all waiting for.

James smiles, and it's one of his real ones, his super-duper, amazingly, stupidly happy ones.

"You're in," he replies, making his way to Logan in two long strides and shaking his hand. "How are you even a real person?"

Kendall shouts, "That's what I keep saying!"


	6. Detective Diva

**Author's Note: ** Thanks again for the reviews, alerts, faves and reading in general. It means a ton to me, guys. Enjoy the chapter, and let me know what you think. Lots of love to all of you.

-K-

It turns out Logan is elusive as fuck. Oh, he'll talk to Kendall for ages about the music he loves, his favorite brand of equipment or whether The Who or Rush had the better drummer, but as soon as the conversation turns to anything more personal, he's quick to make up an excuse to stop talking.

A normal conversation between the two usually progresses something like this:

"You actually listen to folk music?" Logan might ask.

"Well, yeah. My mom listened to so much of the stuff while I was growing up it was either like it or be miserable."

"Yeah?"

"There are some awesome folk and folk-ish songs that everyone should know. Didn't your parents force you to listen to anything you grew to love?"

"Crap, I just remembered I have a biology test to study for. See ya next time we have practice, Kendall."

And then he's gone.

But Kendall is sneaky too, and Logan doesn't even realize how much the blond is learning about him simply from his music choices. For instance, Logan has never been in love and had his heart broken. Kendall is sure of it. Because all of Logan's favorites are these loud, fast-paced selections with lyrics far from love. Nothing hauntingly melodic or acoustic or sad.

Kendall's heart has been broken exactly two-and-a-half times. Once, by his father, a half turn by the kid across the street who never showed (Kendall only gives this a half since he never really had the kid to begin with), and once by Sherry Jeannette Graves in the seventh grade. The last was this giant of a girl who, at the time, was a good head taller than Kendall. She kicked his ass at basketball and could spit almost as far as he could. Damn, she was cool. He had the balls to kiss her cheek once. She slapped him, but Kendall wasn't dissuaded. When she moved at the end of the school year, Kendall listened to "Incomplete" by the Backstreet Boys on repeat for weeks. He still can't listen to that song without tearing up a little.

Kendall has also learned Logan doesn't like to wallow. He's always moving on, moving forward, looking two, three, four steps ahead. Kendall has noticed this not only from the music Logan likes, but from the way he handles himself during practices. If Carlos tries to whine over a messed up note, Logan pushes him through it. "Don't worry about it," Logan says. "You'll do it right this time." So Carlos does. When James goes diva and moans over his voice sounding pitchy, Logan politely tells him to get over it. It's like Logan is one of those crazy sweaters from the '80s and Kendall finds new colors the more he unwinds. At first glance, Logan is this meek little thing, but underneath is the determination of a bear.

The thing that drives Kendall crazy (the most) about Logan is Kendall is sure Logan is interested, at least a little, just from his mannerisms. There are unnecessary touches and long looks and flushed cheeks, but that's it. Maybe James was right. It's been a month, and Logan is still an enigma.

It only makes Kendall want Logan more.

-L-

"I don't know how much longer I can keep this up," Logan says, sitting at a corner table in the dining hall.

"Then tell them now," Camille replies, and she makes it sound so easy.

"It's not just that. That's a huge, _huge _part of it, but…" Logan stops, takes a long drink of water and ponders the cold broccoli on his plate.

Camille waves her hands in Logan's face to gain his attention. He looks to her reluctantly and stabs a spear of broccoli without glancing at it.

"But what?" she asks.

"I want to trust them, and I can't." Logan bites the head off the vegetable then throws his fork down in disgust, some at the soggy food, mostly at himself.

"And why is that?"

"Because they're going to feel sorry for me. And out of all the people in the whole world, I don't want those guys feeling sorry for me. I don't want them treating me different."

"But you're going to have to tell them, Logan, and to do that you have to trust they won't treat you different. The plan was never to keep this a secret forever."

"How do I do that? I just…_don't_…see how people blindly trust each other."

"What about Kendall?" Camille asks, an impish smile quirking her mouth.

"What about him?"

"You trust him."

Logan stares at her. How the hell does she figure him out so easily? How does she get down the core of things and just blurt thoughts that Logan has trouble even admitting in his own head?

"I might a little," he concedes. "I don't know anything about him though."

"Whose fault is that?" She points an accusing finger at Logan and stops talking for a moment, rifling through her salad. "So did he try to kiss you yet?" Camille asks, casually biting into a cherry tomato. Logan chokes on his water, coughing for several moments.

"Camille," Logan hisses, "it's not like that, okay? He's just…"

"Just…"

"…a really great guy. And I'm such a socially-awkward, anti-social weirdo. I don't even know what I'm doing." Logan crosses his arms on the table and hides his face between them.

Camille moves from being across from Logan to his side, drapes an arm across his shoulders and nudges him until he brings his head back up. "Why don't you try telling only him first?"

"But he's the one I want to tell the least."

"Maybe that's why you need to tell him the most," Camille replies.

She's wearing this purple eyeshadow today, and Logan can barely see the whites of her eyes against the full brown of her iris. Their faces are close, closer than they ever have been, and Logan can read the kindness, the concern from Camille as easily as he does sheet music. He might just be learning what it is to have people who aren't related by blood in his life, but he trusts Camille, no matter his trepidations.

"I don't know if I can," Logan replies, whispers.

"Sure you can. What are your plans for the break?"

"Well, we're having to skimp on practices the next few weeks. With finals coming up I need to study. So I agreed to stick around for Christmas so we can really go at it."

Camille quirks an eyebrow and grins. "Go at it, huh?"

Logan smiles and hides his face again, a blush darkening his cheeks. "Stop," he mumbles.

She hugs him, shaking him slightly until he looks at her again. "How are your parents feeling about spending Christmas without their little Logie Bear?"

Logan rolls his eyes and says, "My mom made me call her on the phone and talk just so she could hear my voice."

"Aw, that's so sweet."

"I felt dumb. I was basically just talking to myself, so I talked about K- the band."

Camille gives Logan one of those knowing looks that drive him crazy. "Do your parents know you're probably and or mostly gay?"

"Cam, you knew before I did, so no they don't." Logan isn't going through the discovery issues so many do as he come to terms with his sexuality. To him, a romantic relationship is such a foreign concept, he's not concerning himself. To Logan, it's just another thing that makes him different, another thing to keep to himself from anyone who doesn't need to know.

"You know I would've been claiming you as mine if I didn't have such excellent gaydar. Are you going to tell them?"

"One day? There's really nothing to tell right now." Logan sits up fully again and resumes poking at the food on his tray. He's not worried about how his parents will react, not really. True, they don't live in a very accepting place where he could walk around proclaiming he's gay, but he outgrew needing his parents approval when he learned to stand up for himself.

Mom and Dad's acceptance would be nice though.

"After the break there might be," Camille practically sings.

"Am I going to have to muzzle you?" Logan replies, fondly bumping Camille's shoulder with his own.

"I'd still have my hands!" She gives him a giggle and big grin before turning serious.

"Tell him over the break, Logan. The longer you wait the harder it'll be."

Worry pinches Logan's eyes, his mouth downturned in a frown. "I'll try."

-K-

Kendall decides to stop beating around the bush and tell Logan he'd like to know him better, maybe ask him out on a date.

Logan has been absent the last week, making sure he is fully prepped for his exams, and Kendall hates to admit how much he misses him. It's dumb, but Logan's presence brightens everything so much Kendall feels like a cloud lingers when he's gone. Kendall much prefers the sunshine.

They're able to work in a practice the weekend before Logan's finals. Kendall can tell Logan is tensed up over it, and it's not until they've been playing for an hour Logan smiles for the first time. It only makes Kendall more nervous; he's never asked a guy out before. His experience with asking girls out is limited. When they take a break from practice, Kendall pulls James outside to ask his advice. If there's anything James is good for, it should be tips on dating. He's certainly done it enough.

"I want to ask Logan out," Kendall says once he's made sure they're out of earshot.

"Ask him out where?" James asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You know, like, on a date?"

"I knew you liked him." James leans back and claps his hands together once, rubs them together. "Wait. Since when do you like dudes?"

"I don't know. Since Logan? Since forever? Does it matter?"

"Nah, just wondering, man. You guys have been flirting for weeks. So you're asking the master for help, huh? Wise decision, my friend."

"So could you stop patting yourself on the back and give me some advice?"

James gets a faraway look on his face and bites his lower lip; Kendall recognizes this easily as James' thinking face. Kendall gives him a moment before he gets impatient. "Well?"

"You should start by complimenting him."

"I already do that all the time."

"You always compliment his music. You need to say something nice about his face." James is extremely serious, places his hands on Kendall's shoulders.

"Okay. Then what?"

"Then you say, 'Logan, do you want to go out sometime?'"

"Wow." Kendall shrugs from James' hold, laughing his way back to the porch to go inside.

"What?" James exclaims, rushing after Kendall before he can enter the door.

"Nothing, James. Thanks for the advice," Kendall says, clear sarcasm coloring the words. James ignores it.

"You're welcome." James smiles as Kendall opens the screen door. "And, hey, Kendall?"

He turns back around. "Yeah?"

"Don't you dare scare him off. We need him. You said so yourself and you were right."

"Course I was right."

"And, hey, Kendall?"

Kendall sighs loudly, rolling his eyes and once again turning to James. "What?"

"Don't break his heart. I like the little guy."

"What about my heart?" Kendall protests.

"You've got us and you wear your heart on your sleeve, so Carlos and I don't have much trouble helping you fix it. I don't think Logan opens up much. It's hard to fix people like that."

James surprises Kendall with his perceptiveness sometimes. This is one of those times. Kendall wonders if it's almost a guarded warning. "I'll keep that in mind," he says.

"And, hey, Kendall?"

"Damn it, James," he laughs, "what now?"

James isn't smiling anymore. "Good luck, man."

-K-

They're done with practice, and it's almost two in the morning. It happens a lot, the time getting away from them. Logan warmed up considerably about midway through practice, but now he's looking dead on his feet. Kendall can just imagine him poring over the pages of written word the guy could've probably recited from memory to begin with. He imagines Logan is the kind of guy who pushes himself too hard sometimes; it's clear in the stress furrowing his brow once all the music has leaked from the room.

Carlos and James left the Pantry of Perfect Pitch as soon as they all called it quits. James must've had something to do with that, and Kendall appreciates it, except now he doesn't have a reason to back out and he's feeling so nervous he's almost sick and his palms are all sweaty.

Logan, despite his obvious exhaustion, is meticulously taking apart a snare and doing…something…to it. Kendall isn't sure what really, but Logan's pink tongue to poking out the corner of his mouth, and Kendall knows he'll combust if he puts this off anymore. So, from across the room, he says, "You have really nice eyes."

The other guy doesn't even look up, and Kendall decides he's going to smack James upside the head next time he sees him. He should've known better than to take advice from him.

After several awkward moments of silence, Logan looks up to see Kendall staring at him. Logan expels a tiny, tired laugh. "I'm sorry, Kendall, did you say something?"

"Uh, um, no. I didn't say anything." He wants to start mumbling to himself about how stupid he is, but instead picks up his guitar and sits on one of the barstools stationed in the practice room. Beginning to strum, Kendall pays close attention to his fingers, not chancing a glance in Logan's direction again. Instead he just starts talking.

"Hey, Logan, we've been spending an awful lot of time together, and I still don't know anything about you." He strums a few more chords, plucks a few single notes and waits to see if Logan will chime in. He doesn't, so Kendall continues. "I'd really like to change that. I know when we met, I said I wasn't hitting on you, and I kind of, really was, even though I didn't mean to. So, yeah, I was wondering if you might want to go out sometime? Just me and you?" Kendall takes a quick look in Logan's direction through his lashes, and the other guy is still just doing whatever he's been doing to the drum. "If I've totally misread the signals, please don't punch me in the face or quit."

Logan just completely ignores Kendall, doesn't even give him a cursory glimpse. And, damn if it doesn't hurt like a punch in the gut, the wind knocked right out of him. He'd expected maybe a polite _No thanks, I'm not interested _or _Sorry, I'm totally straight _or, maybe, hopefully, a _Yeah, I'd love to!_ but not the absolute silent treatment. It's like this stupid idea Kendall had of Logan, of Logan and him, beginning some grand romantic love, the big kind, goes _poof _in a silent vapor. It feels all wrong, like the universe isn't keeping up its end.

"Sorry," Kendall mumbles, rising from the stool and putting his guitar back on the stand. "I won't mention it again."

He makes his way to the door, and Logan finally looks up. "See ya next practice, Kendall," he says, a normal smile on his face like nothing just happened.

"Yeah, see ya," Kendall replies, and he doesn't know whether to be offended or appreciative that Logan is pretending Kendall admitted nothing.

-K-

Once Logan leaves, James immediately starts asking Kendall how it went. Kendall is almost too brokenhearted and embarrassed to say anything, but James is his best friend.

"He totally ignored me," Kendall admits, plopping on one of the living room bean bags with a dejected huff. James sits up as straight as possible from his own chair, putting his elbows on his knees.

"That can't be right." James ponders things a moment, the air fraught with Kendall's downhearted vibes. "Wait. Did you compliment his face?"

"I said he had nice eyes," Kendall says, his cheeks heating at the remembrance of the awkward comment.

"Well, that's nice enough," James replies, once again going contemplative. It's about that time Carlos comes out of the bedroom.

"How'd it go?" Carlos asks. Kendall groans and covers his face, worms down further into the bean bag.

"James, dude, why'd you tell Carlos?"

"I didn't know it was a secret," James says. He has the sense to look regretful.

Kendall sighs, his hands moving to his face and rubbing his cheeks vigorously. "It wasn't. It's not. I'm just...disappointed." Disappointed is the biggest fucking understatement of the decade. He feels like he's been chewed up, digested and shit out by a T-Rex or something equally ferocious.

"He didn't say yes?" Carlos is genuinely confused, his lower lip jutting out in a pout.

"He didn't say _anything,_" Kendall answers, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he remembers the way it dropped when Logan just sat there.

"Maybe he didn't hear you," James offers.

"I don't think he could've missed all the dumb shit I was saying. Oh, god." He sits up, his face falling into his cupped hands. "I was such a dumbass."

"But I know he likes you, Kendall," Carlos says. "I just _know _it."

"How am I supposed to ever face him again?" It doesn't help that Kendall can't just turn off his attraction to Logan like a light switch. He's still thinking about his dimples, his hair_, _that goofy grin he gets when he plays and his laugh and his stupid smart musical theories and the way he walks and blushes and ugh.

_Shut up, brain, _Kendall thinks.

"Maybe he's actually in love with me," James says.

Kendall is about to let him have it when he notices James' tentative smile, one of the genuine, real ones, the one that always makes Kendall feel better.

"I think we need a group hug," Carlos says, and Kendall thinks that's an outstanding idea. So he fights his way out of the bean bag and lets James and Carlos get him in a sandwich hug. It helps. It holds him together.

"Something still doesn't seem right," James adds, once they've let go of each other. "I'm going to find out what it is."

-L-

Logan is stressed beyond stressed. He's almost done with his finals – just one more tomorrow – but he's stretched to the limit. His brain feels like it's about to start leaking out his ears, and all day he swears he's smelled something burning. Not to mention the band has their first real gig coming up on Christmas Eve. Logan wanted to tell the guys he thinks it's a bad idea; he likes to be overly prepared for things, and they've only been playing together just short of two months. They wouldn't hear it. They don't even have a name yet, right now just calling themselves "The Guys". Lame, if you ask Logan.

Everything is getting on his nerves, including Camille. He still feels a little guilty about ditching her so soon after their comp final, but he needs a few minutes to just veg out, maybe watch some mindless television. If he has to memorize one more word, he might throw up alphabet soup.

He turns on his TV and falls on his bed, thinking a nap wouldn't be the worst idea. Not bothering to change the channel, Logan turns on the captioning just as some cheesy talk show guy is announcing a rough looking dude with a mullet is "not the father". Logan laughs and really hopes these people aren't real.

Just about to drift off, the lights in his dorm room flash indicating there's someone at the door. Logan, thinking it has to be Camille (no one else has ever come to his room), sighs and just waits for her to barge in like normal. A few moments pass and the lights flash again. Confused, he groans and rolls out of bed to answer the door.

He's more than a little surprised to see James standing there, and instead of greeting him or asking how he is doing, Logan just says, "How did you know where I live?"

"Hi, Logan, how are ya, buddy? Your dorm is high tech with a buzzer on the door and all." James pushes past Logan into his room without being invited, smiling brightly, yet Logan can tell he's up to something.

"Um, I'm okay. Trying to rest up between finals. But, hey, really, how do you know which dorm I'm in?"

"Oh, yeah," James answers, holding up a folder. "You left this. It has 'Property of Logan Mitchell' in the front cover and all your other personal address-y stuff. I thought I'd be nice and bring it over." He slaps the folder to Logan's chest and stares around the room.

"Thanks? But I meant to leave this over at your house. It has a lot of music and stuff I wrote for the band," Logan answers, growing dubious over James' excuse. He's not stupid; he knows James, Kendall and Carlos are curious about him, understandably.

"Oh, you're watching _Maury_?" James chuckles. "I love this show." He seats himself on the edge of Logan's bed and settles in like he's staying for awhile.

"Not that I mind you coming for a visit, James, but—"

"Hey, why do you have the words at the bottom of the screen?"

"Oh, I, uh, was about to take a nap so I muted the TV and those come on automatic—"

"The TV isn't muted," James answers, a confused and somewhat suspicious look crossing his face.

"Hey, your hair looks really good today," Logan replies.

"Really? Wow, thanks, Logan. You know, I've always liked you. You're really smart and stuff. Wait." James points at Logan. "You're trying to change the subject."

"James, did you need something? I don't mean to be rude, but I'm exhausted and would really like a nap." Logan sits in the desk chair by the bed and runs his hands through his hair, squirming under James' scrutiny. He's starting to get warm, so he stands right back up to adjust the thermostat, picks up the remote and turns off the traitorous TV. This can't be happening. Out of all the guys, Logan would've tagged James as the least perceptive. Guess he was wrong.

"Yeah. There you go being all smart, and I thought I was being slick with the whole 'returning your folder' thing," James says, fingers in the air making quotations. His smile fades and he lowers his chin. "I wanted to talk to you about Kendall."

"Kendall? Why? Is he okay? Does he need help?"

"Oh, yeah, Kendall needs all kinds of help, his wardrobe being the most important. Plaid is so '90s grunge, you know? I keep telling him –"

"James?" Logan prods, trying to get the pretty guy on track.

"Right, sorry. I was just wondering why you'd ignore Kendall when he was trying to be all honest and stuff."

"Huh?"

"You know, this weekend when he asked you out and –"

"Ask me out where?" Logan interrupts. What the hell is James on about? Logan is pretty damn certain he would remember Kendall _asking him out. _Especially if it's on a date like he thinks James is implying. True, Logan doesn't know how he would react to such a question, probably stammer and stutter out some kind of excuse and say no. How could he not? Kendall is so –

"On, like, a date."

"No he didn't." Logan squints his eyes trying to recall anything he might've missed. It's a constant worry, trying to keep up with the conversation, at least enough so he can participate. The only time he can think of was when he was cleaning his drums and Kendall was playing the guitar and singing. Shit.

And fate can be such a bitch, because it's that moment the lights in Logan's room flash, the same alert Logan got when James was at the door. James looks at the special light above the entryway, the one that comes on extra bright when the buzzer is pressed.

Camille bursts in, waving her hands as she goes, signing, _I saw that pretty guy from your band around campus and was wondering if you knew why he was—_

She stops when she sees James sitting there. "And there he is," Camille says.

James looks at Logan several moments, the hammering of Logan's heart hard enough so that he feels it in his throat, his head. James' eyes narrow as he looks from Logan, to the light above the door, to the TV, to Camille's stilled hands.

"Logan," James starts, shock and realization and maybe a tiny bit of wonderment blossoming on his face, "are you deaf?"


	7. Secrets and Skates

**Author's note: ** Everything going good, guys? You continue to overwhelm me with your amazing-ness. Thank you, thank you, thank you, for all the alerts, faves and reviews. It's so late here, and I'm sleepy, so sorry for any typos. Just ignore me. Blah. Love to you all!

-L-

When Logan was a child, the other kids at school would mock him. It didn't start out that way; right after the accident they all treated him like he were spun sugar, butterfly wings or blown glass. Something to be treated with delicacy and sweetness. As the months went by, it all changed. One of their favorite things to say was, "Hey, Logan, are you deaf or something?" Some of the especially pushy ones would knock on his head as though he were a door, as though he could open up and hear their cruel question. Many of his schoolmates would laugh, the others hanging their heads and hiding, pretending to be as deaf as Logan actually was.

So, now, when James confronts him, Logan wants to be that kid again, the one who pretends he has no idea what is being said about him. He wants to be one of the kids who hid.

James asks again, "Logan, can you hear me?" and Logan shakes his head, his vision darkening at the edges until all he sees are James' lips moving in a blur, asking him a question he is not ready to answer, not yet.

Those assholes in elementary school couldn't make him cry, and Logan refuses to give in to tears now, despite the fact he's already breathing heavily, his eyes fogging over. He blinks and holds in a sob, deciding it better to choke than show weakness.

James just says, "Logan?" He looks concerned; he doesn't look like he's about to laugh and call Logan a dummy or a freak.

"I, uh, I d-don't –"

Camille puts a hand on Logan's shoulder, and he turns to her. She gives him a long look, something bolstering in her gaze, something encouraging. Logan still can't find the words, though, so she answers for him.

"Yes, Logan is deaf," she says. "No, he can't hear you."

They both look to James, waiting on a reaction. His eyes are wide, his mouth shaped to a round circle as he lets loose a long, slow breath. "How can you… How is it that you can… I'm really confused."

Logan finds his voice. "I read lips very well. There was an accident when I was eight, so I can speak clearly for the most part." His words are calm, at least he hopes they are, no tremble felt in his throat.

"How can you play drums the way you do when –"

"Lots and lots of practice and patience," Logan interrupts, whispering, "I have to feel the sound. It's why I love percussion and bass so much."

"Wow." James stands, crossing his arms over his chest, taking yet another deep breath. "I don't know what to say, Logan, I'm so sor—"

"Please, don't." Then James is looking at Logan with pity, which is just what Logan fears the most. Rejection, to Logan, is better than pity.

James nods and replies, "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Would you have taken me seriously?" Logan asks.

James seems to ponder that for a moment. "I don't know," he replies, and Logan appreciates he's trying to be honest. "But Kendall would have. We all would have after hearing you. Because you're great, Logan, seriously. Knowing this just makes you even more amazing—"

"I don't want to be amazing for a deaf guy. I don't want to be treated differently than _anyone else._ Kendall might've taken me seriously, or he might've convinced you all to take me on out of pity, out of some warped sense of charity. Because that's how Kendall is, I just know it."

"No, he wouldn't. He's –"

"You know he would've. He would've tried at least. And I can't stand it, especially from him. I can't stand someone like him feeling _sorry _for me." And Logan doesn't mean to sound angry, but he does.

"You have to tell Kendall and Carlos."

Logan opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He wants – needs – to tell the others. And he was going to very soon. Wasn't he? Logan looks at Camille, her face shifting sad to resolute. She gives him a terse nod.

"Just, listen to me a minute."

"I'm listening," James replies.

"I had planned on telling you all over winter break. I just needed to prove myself. Can you understand that?" Logan holds his hands out in defense, his expression bordering on pleading.

"Yeah, I can." Logan thinks James' face softens, his clenched jaw loosens.

"Can you wait and let me tell them after our first gig?"

James huffs, uncrossing his arms and suddenly looking very tired. "Logan, these are my _best _friends. We tell each other, literally, everything. That's over two weeks away."

"I know, James, I know, but can't you please –"

"James," Camille chimes in. She juts out her lower lip and Logan swears her eyes grow larger than their already abnormally large state. "Please, let Logan tell them himself. It's something he _really_ needs to do on his own."

James gets a goofy grin on his face. "Yeah, sure, hot girl, I can wait." Logan sighs in relief until James shakes his head, as though coming out of hypnosis. Camille must have voodoo or…something. "Hang on, here. I can't let hot girl make me keep secrets from my buds. Bros before…you know. No offense."

"Please," she says again, and Logan is almost certain she's actually producing tears.

"Oh, hot girl, don't cry." James is obviously torn, looking between Camille and Logan as though he can't decide who to settle on.

"My _name_ is Camille," she throws in.

"I'm going to tell them, James. I just need to do this my own way. _Please._"

Hands thrown in the air, James finally says, "Okay! Okay. This is going to end horribly, but okay."

James is mumbling to himself as he makes his way to the door, presumably to go home. Logan stops him.

"Hey, man, do you hate me?" Logan asks, voice low, fearing the answer.

"Dude, you're too awesome to hate." He pulls Logan to his side, throws an arm over Logan's shoulders. "I respect what you're doing, man. Just, I feel like I should tell you, Kendall really doesn't appreciate being left in the dark about things, okay? Shit, I almost forgot. Kendall."

Logan had almost forgotten the initial intent of James' visit also, but that squirmy, not entirely unpleasant, sensation comes back in full force when James says Kendall's name.

"Kendall really likes you, dude," James says bluntly. Logan can't really believe it, but James would know, wouldn't he? The shorter guy fights off the urge to grin like a fool. Nothing has changed. The most important thing in his life has to be his music.

"I d-don't really date, James. I've, well, never been on a date, and I don't really have the time to start now."

"Whatever. Everybody has the time to date. You make time, right, gorgeous?" James finishes, looking at Camille and winking. Logan is pretty surprised when he sees her cheeks get the tiniest bit rosy.

"I mean it. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not so good at people," Logan says.

"I know you like him." James firmly pats Logan's back before opening the door. "Just think about it. I can hook you up!"

He leaves with a smirk.

"Well he seems nice," Camille says.

-L-

He doesn't break down until Camille leaves, but as soon as the door closes behind her, he hides under his blankets and wonders for hours why he ever left the cocooned safety of his parents' coddling.

Logan remembers the first day he was truly made fun of, and he remembers the way his mother just _knew_ something was wrong with him even though he wouldn't talk about it, wouldn't shed a tear. His mother took him in her arms like he were an infant still, wrapped his grandma's old afghan around them both. She pressed her lips against his temple and began to hum. Logan had reached up to her throat, pressed his fingers against her skin, falling asleep from the familiar vibration.

Logan's father's voice had always boomed; he remembers is clearly. When Logan touched his father's throat that same night and requested he sing, it felt like a jet engine warming up, taking flight.

And then he remembers why he left, what he wants to be a part of. Something greater than comfort. Something he can't obtain by hiding away. So Logan takes his time, his few hours to be afraid, and then he shrugs it off, moves past it.

He just has to remember there's something bigger waiting for him. This upset is temporary.

And maybe he's being a little silly, Logan thinks. James took the news well; he didn't scream or want Logan to quit the band. He decides not to worry about it. He'll know the right time to tell Kendall and Carlos.

Logan gets through his last final and feels a zillion times lighter just from that.

He says his goodbyes to Camille who is going home to Connecticut for the holidays. She makes him promise - cross his heart and hope to die - he'll text her with any news. He's gotten so used to having her around that when he goes to dinner after seeing her off, he feels a little lonely eating by himself.

Kendall has to be mad at him. Logan tries to imagine what the other guy must feel like, if he really was trying to ask Logan out and was completely ignored. Logan knows more than most what it is to be shunned, and he feels like shit about it. Against his better judgment, Logan can't help but pick up his phone and send Kendall a text.

_You guys want to practice tonight? Finals are over._

When Kendall doesn't respond right away, Logan gets nervous. What if James couldn't keep quiet and Logan never sees Kendall again? The thought makes him lose his appetite so he dumps his tray and leaves the dining hall.

He's all the way back to his room and thinking about going to bed when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He feels a little silly, scrambling to grab the gadget and read the message, but it doesn't stop him from doing it.

_I can't tonight. :( Working. Tomorrow?_

Logan breathes in relief and sends a message back. _Perfect! What time?_

The reply is much quicker than the first. _Just come on over whenever you wake up._

Logan smiles and chuckles to himself. Kendall doesn't realize how early Logan wakes up.

_That's usually pretty early, _Logan types. _Are you sure?_

The reply says, _Sure, I'm sure. You could always just climb into bed with me if I'm still asleep ;)_

Wow. That was...forward. Although Logan's heart does speed a bit at the implication. He's just composing a response, typing and erasing it about a dozen times when another text comes through.

_Sorry! I'm being a creep again. Didn't figure I had anything to lose. Ignore me. But, yeah, just wake us up if we're still asleep._

At least Kendall doesn't seem _too _upset, but that comment about nothing to lose makes Logan a little sad. He doesn't allow himself to worry over it too much.

Though he knows he's going to have to worry over it sooner or later.

-L-

"Dude, what time is it?" James whines through a crack in the door, withering against the early morning sun.

"About eight," Logan answers, feeling a bit dumb for taking Kendall's words so literally. Logan hasn't ever seen James so unkempt, pillow creases on his cheeks and stray locks of hair twisting in every direction.

"In the morning?" James rasps, incredulously eyeing Logan. "What's the emergency?"

"Nothing. Kendall told me yesterday to just come over whenever I got up."

James only continues to stare at him, his eyes drooping as he leans his head against the doorframe. Logan swears he's beginning to snore.

"Hey," Logan reaches out and gives James a gentle shake, "James, can I come in?"

The pretty guy jerks to semi-alertness and nods, opening the door fully before turning around and wandering back to bed, waving an arm in the air. Logan has no clue what James is saying.

Logan closes the door behind him and just awkwardly stands in the entryway. If he were a nosy person, now would be the perfect time to go snooping, but he's not. He does move closer to the bar, glancing at the photos stationed there, figuring it's okay to look at these since they're so plainly on display.

He smiles when he recognizes an extremely youthful Kendall, all crooked teeth and wild, white blond hair. There's a picture of him with whom Logan assumes is Kendall's mom, the woman giving the young Kendall a tired smile. There's another picture of Kendall, his mom and a little girl who looks just like his mother. Logan frowns when he doesn't see Kendall with his dad anywhere.

Moving along, Logan sees the pictures of James and Carlos with their respective families. He stops and stares for long moments at a collage of the three guys, pictures ranging from barely school age through high school graduation. Logan thinks it's stupid, knows he's imagining it, but in every photo it seems like he could fit right into the frame, slide into the empty spot next to Kendall, feel his protective arm slung over Logan's shoulder.

Logan doesn't like the way looking at the group pictures makes him feel and an unexplainable shiver wracks his frame. He doesn't want to stand alone in the eerily still living room anymore, and it's enough to make him venture into the bedroom.

For a moment, he's almost thankful he can't hear because he's sure the snores are horrendous. He sees Carlos on the bottom bunk first, his mouth hanging open and a fair amount of spittle collected on his pillow. James is already passed out on his top bunk, eyelids and lips twitching. He looks over to the left corner where Kendall's bed is stationed and there's this firm tug in Logan's chest, the sensation of dropping in his stomach, because Kendall is the only one of the three sleeping peacefully, his face smooth and calm.

Logan moves closer to Kendall, fingers itching to smooth back a lock of tawny hair flopped over Kendall's eye. He's hugging a pillow to his chest, his cheek cuddled into it, the steady cadence of his breathing moving his shoulders up and down. And Logan doesn't think he's ever let himself appreciate just how _beautiful _Kendall is, his face all sharp angles and masculine, his eyelashes long and feathering from his lids. It's enough to make Logan forget – for a fraction of a second – why he's so resistant to any sort of relationship beyond simple acquaintance.

And Kendall thought _he _was a creep. Logan is just standing in Kendall's room and watching him sleep like a stalker or something. Logan is aware he's being a creeper, but it doesn't stop the crazy want he has to crawl into bed with Kendall, steal some of the heat of his sleep-warm flesh, just as the guy had jokingly suggested yesterday.

Instead, Logan sits on the edge of Kendall's bed gently, trying not to jostle the sleeping blond. He places a hand on Kendall's ankle, not missing the soothing warmth exuding from the sleeping guy's skin. Logan gingerly shakes Kendall, but it doesn't wake him. Logan tries again, this time whispering Kendall's name.

Kendall doesn't open his eyes, but arches his back and stretches. Logan glances away, his stupid cheeks heating up, because Kendall isn't wearing a shirt and the movement is sinuous and slow and smooth. He knows Kendall isn't doing it on purpose, but Logan still wants to ask him to stop. Or maybe ask him to stretch out some more.

"Kendall?" Logan says again, willing Kendall not to notice his red cheeks and flustered expression.

Kendall's eyes finally slit open and he notices Logan. A warm, closed-mouth smile curls his lips as he closes his eyes again. "I didn't think you'd take me so seriously."

"I'm sorry. I know it's super early and I shouldn't have –"

"No, I meant about the climbing into my bed thing. I might've suggested more if…" Kendall stops talking and rubs his face, opens his eyes again, this time a little wider. "Shit, this is real isn't it?"

"Yeah," Logan replies, drawing out the word.

"Well, since I'm already starting the creepiness today, do you wanna cuddle?"

Logan tries to stammer out a response, and he knows there's no hiding his embarrassment now, his cheeks coal-hot.

"I'm kissing, Logan."

"What?" Logan tilts his head to the side. What?

"Shit, I mean, I'm kidding, Logan." Kendall rolls over on his stomach and hides his face in the bedding.

A rogue pillow flies through the air, hits Logan in the face and he turns toward the bunk beds in time to see Carlos shout, "Shut up!"

Logan whispers, "Sorry," and turns back to Kendall who peeks at him from his pillow.

"You had breakfast?" Kendall asks. "I can make you breakfast."

-L-

"You know, Kendall, you really didn't have to go to all this trouble," Logan says, rolling his eyes and shoveling a heaping spoonful of cocoa puffs in his mouth.

"Hey, my cocoa puffs are highly coveted around here. I share them with _no one. _You should be flattered." Kendall takes a bite from his own bowl, closing his eyes like the cereal is the best thing he's ever tasted.

"Oh, I am," Logan laughs. "This is the first time I've ever had them, actually."

"What? No." Kendall stares at Logan as though waiting on the punchline, his face horrified. "You're serious? What the hell, man?"

"The most sugar my mom ever let me have in my cereal was frosted flakes, sometimes, usually just on Sundays." He takes another bite, because damn, cocoa puffs are good. He knows it's rude, but he continues around the food in his mouth, "I've always wanted to try cereal with marshmallows in it, too."

"How did you survive?"

"Man, you have no idea. For my twelfth birthday, I asked for a two liter bottle of soda. Regular soda, the kind with sugar," Logan replies.

"Wow, so your parents are health nuts, huh?"

"Yeah, my mom, she's always –" Logan realizes what he's doing, babbling off about himself, talking about his actual life like it's nothing. He stops, because it's not something he can do, it's not something safe. Even with Camille – who knows about his impairment – knows better than to needle Logan about his past, and here he is, beginning to offer it up freely. But Kendall's face is so earnest, smiling and interested and Logan kind of, really wants Kendall to know everything about him. In turn, he wants to know everything about Kendall. It's such a bad idea, though. Kendall might forget about him any day now.

"—should we wake up the guys so we can practice?" Logan asks.

Kendall's smile falls. He looks into his cereal bowl. "Yeah, you're right. We need to be done by lunch because Friday afternoons are rink days."

"Hockey?"

"Yeah. You ever play?"

Logan laughs. "Hockey wasn't so popular in Texas. I've never even ice skated before."

Kendall brightens again, a smile coming back tentatively. "You're a sheltered guy, Logan. You should come with us."

Logan thinks he should really say no, but Kendall's eyes are so hopeful, flashing green_brown_yellow, so he only pauses a second before he says, "Okay."

-L-

The drums get a hard workout. Logan pounds them so furiously, he is sweating and exhausted when the other guys call practice. It's the good kind of tired, the kind where – once all the final reverberations have seeped from him – he can be more at peace. He's regretting agreeing to go play hockey with the guys, and in truth just wants to sprawl out somewhere and let the last of the drum beats vibrating in his head lull him to sleep.

Conveniently, Carlos has volunteered for an extra shift and James has his "bi-weekly cuticle treatment which absolutely, positively _can't _be missed" despite Kendall insisting James had his treatment three days prior.

Logan doesn't miss James telling Kendall that he should just take Logan to Pershing Square, the outdoor ice-skating arena, since Logan needs to learn to skate first and foremost. Neither does Logan miss James' wiggling eyebrows.

"Do you still want to go?" Kendall asks Logan, his expression already showing disappointment, and Logan can't stand it.

"Yeah, sure I do," Logan answers. The smile he gets in return is brilliant, like Logan just offered Kendall starlight and snowflakes and a year's supply of cocoa puffs. It's so much that Logan lets out a breathless chuckle, wondering how in the world he'll ever be able to say no to a smile like that ever again.

It's probably a good thing he had absolutely no fucking clue when Kendall tried to ask him out.

"Could we take the bus, though?" Logan asks. It would be difficult to carry on more than a one-sided conversation with Kendall and keep his eyes on the road at the same time. "I've got no clue where Pershing Square is."

James pokes Logan's shoulder, waiting on the shorter guy to look at him. "You could let Kendall drive your car. He's a good driver."

The idea of letting someone else drive his vehicle isn't so appealing, but Logan agrees. And once they're going and Kendall looks so at ease behind the wheel, the seat leaned back, Logan's nerves smooth. He decides he really needs to stop thinking about how attractive Kendall looks driving his car. In the small space, the scent of Kendall's clothes and skin is encapsulated and concentrated and Logan feels like he's swimming in everything Kendall. The bright, afternoon sun makes him golden, the strong lines of his exposed forearms taut and gripping the wheel, and, for the first time, Logan can't stop a few lurid images from entering his thoughts. Those arms around his waist, calloused hands whispering across his stomach and lower, lower.

Logan wants to gulp in the fresh air when they arrive at their destination, the ride having seemed endless, and this whole outing was a bad, bad, bad idea.

Kendall insists to pay for Logan's skate rental, insists on taking Logan's foot into his lap and showing him how to properly lace the boot. By the time they make it to the ice, Logan is trembling. It's not cold out, but every gesture from Kendall, his fingers on Logan's ankles as he helped with the laces, his hand on the small of Logan's back as he leads him onto the ice, is so tender that Logan is overwhelmed by it all.

No one has ever treated him this way just for _him_, just for his company. He is the spun sugar, butterfly wings or blown glass he was treated as after his accident, but, this time, it's only out of affection. And Kendall has absolutely no clue what he's doing to Logan with his simple, kind gestures.

Logan is unsteady on the ice, legs shaking like a newborn colt, and Kendall moves in close to him, grasps his hips. "You okay?" he asks.

"Y-yes, yeah," Logan answers, eyeing Kendall's mouth before looking at his feet and back again.

"Look at me and balance," Kendall says. "I won't let you fall."

Logan nods, fists his hands in Kendall's shirt sleeves to keep from putting his open palms on Kendall's shoulders. Kendall begins to skate backwards, slowly, still guiding Logan by the hips.

"Don't be so stiff. Loosen up," Kendall says, shaking Logan's middle gently. "Bend your knees a little and lean into me. Think about taking baby steps."

"Bossy," Logan comments, earning a grin from Kendall. They're quiet for a few moments, long enough so that Logan begins to be less wobbly, feels more like Kendall is leading him as opposed to holding him up. They're still looking at each other, and Logan thinks he shouldn't be enjoying studying Kendall's face the way he is, the fall of his unruly blond hair.

"Listen, Kendall, about the other night when you were –"

"Don't sweat it, man," Kendall interrupts.

"I'm sorry I ignored you. I'm not so good at communicating…"

"Are you sure you've never skated before? You're not half bad." It seems Kendall has inherited Logan's evasive techniques.

"I'm one of those people who can do anything," Logan jokes, "but excel at nothing."

Kendall quirks a brow. "Whatever, dude. You're obviously a motherfucking genius."

Logan, who has never been good at taking compliments, takes a moment to look away, promptly tripping over Kendall's feet and causing them both to fall. Logan finds out very quickly that ice _hurts _when you fall on it. Kendall, who is obviously used to colliding with the ice, is laughing so hard that Logan feels it move right out of Kendall and into him. And it's lovely and warm and Logan wants so badly to hear it for himself, resists the urge to move his hands to Kendall's throat and soak it in through his fingertips.

They're slotted right against each other, their legs and skates tangled, Logan half on Kendall and half on ice. He uses Kendall's chest to brace himself and try to stand, briefly catching the rhythm of Kendall's heart in his hand. Of course, he falls again. Kendall wiggles his way out from under Logan and gets up, offering a hand to help Logan.

Once they're both righted, Kendall is still laughing. "I swear, I didn't do that on purpose."

"It was my fault," Logan replies.

Kendall moves in toward Logan again, boldly places his hands back on Logan's hips, but doesn't start skating yet. He's doing that intense staring thing again, but this time they're unbearably close together, Logan able to watch the path of Kendall's eyes as they flit over every inch of Logan's face.

"I just want to know you, Logan," Kendall says, finally. "I feel like I have to, or I'll… I'll just… I don't even know how to finish that thought."

Logan does, because there's something similar blossoming in his heart, something tugging and pulling when his brain keeps screaming at him to stop, to back away, to protect himself.

Kendall begins to skate again, Logan quickly placing his open palms on Kendall's shoulders.

"I'm not good at people," Logan offers in reply. "I have my reasons."

"Maybe you don't have to be good at people to be good at me?" Kendall has that hopeful look on his face, wild eyebrows pushed up high.

"Why me, Kendall? Wait, never mind, don't answer that. I, uh, there's something big about me you need to know." Logan is sure he's about to tell Kendall about his deafness, about how he's never actually heard Kendall's voice or the chords of his guitar, but Kendall stops him.

"It's okay. Just…start with something small. That's fine. It's enough." Kendall squeezes Logan's hips. "I just want to know you, Logan," Kendall says again. "Most of the time the small things are the most important."

When Kendall says that, Logan knows he should just tell Kendall, spit it out and deal with the repercussions. But he can't. What if Kendall never looks at him again the way he is now? And Logan is not being fucking fair, to himself or to Kendall. This is why he's never wanted connections, people to care for. He's already becoming a goddamn coward.

"I'll start," Kendall says, squinting his eyes as though trying to conjure some random fact about himself Logan probably doesn't know. "I know. You'll probably get a kick out of this. When I was eight, there was this family who was supposed to move in across the street. They never did. Anyway, they had a son about my age and I was so convinced he was going to be my best friend—"

"What about Carlos and James?" The story is already unsettling Logan, some foreign feeling of foreboding wrapping around his throat like phantom fingers.

"They were always pairing off and doing things without me," Kendall says. "This kid was supposed to belong to me, be _my very _best friend. Isn't that dumb? Anyway, when he didn't show, I felt like something had been stolen from me. I'd even made these little itineraries planning out all the fun stuff we would do. At the time, it hurt even more than when my dad left. "

"Your dad?" Logan asks.

Kendall shakes his head, "It's no big deal. He was a jerk."

"I'm sorry," Logan replies, and he can tell it _is _a big deal, but he won't push it, not now, not when he's guarding his own secrets.

"No sweat."

"What town in Minnesota are you from?"

"Shakopee, why?"

_Shakopee, Minnesota_, Logan thinks, _average high temperature of seventy-eight degrees in the summer, twenty-six in the winter. Population roughly 20,568 as of the 2000 census. Twenty eight-point-five square miles. _

Logan had been looking forward to the dinner theater in Shakopee. Too bad he never made it.

There are too many thoughts and variants and tangents speeding through Logan's brain, and he's never hated himself so much. This guy wanted him before he even knew his name. This guy had wanted to make Logan _his. _They would've laughed together and played and made macaroni pictures and learned long division and struggled through boring economics classes. They would've talked and had dinner at each other's houses and Logan would've been able to cry because Kendall would've made it all better.

Would have, would have, would have.

But Logan fucked it all up with one crooked leap into the air.

"No reason," Logan answers. "Just curious."

"Anyway, I haven't thought about that kid in years."

_Yes, you have_, Logan thinks.

"I wonder what ever happened to him."

Logan is very aware of Kendall's hands on his hips when he thinks, _He's standing right in front of you._


	8. Notes

**Author's Note:** Ugh, I really wanted to update yesterday, but obviously that didn't happen. I've had a busy, busy few days and the next few are filled with holiday parties (YAY! FREE DINNER AND DRINKS) so it might be a few before I can get another chapter written. But I never make you wait too long, my lovelies! Let me just say how awesome all of you are. The reviews, alerts and faves are just making me ridiculously happy, and I love you all like crazy. There's some fluffy fluff here, guys! Be excited.

-L-

Somehow, Logan makes it through the afternoon with Kendall. How cruel life can be, reminding Logan for the millionth time just how badly he's screwed everything up. It seems he can do nothing but break Kendall's heart, as unintentional as it might be. He's so ashamed that he can't muster the courage to say to Kendall _I was that little boy. I hurt you before I even knew you. _He does apologize, although Kendall merely takes it as a general one, as someone announcing their sympathy.

As soon as he can, he flees Kendall's presence as though escaping a crime scene.

He has trouble going to sleep, the campus unnaturally still with so few students around for the holidays. He switches on his desk lamp when the dark suffocates him, attempting to cut off one of his few remaining senses. He needs everything in his arsenal to work past this, come to a resolution that he's comfortable with while also coming clean about the secrets he's quickly compiling.

The whole thing, this whole would-be relationship with Kendall has Logan regressing, retreating back to that quiet spot in the recesses of his mind where he's scared and longing and confused. He can't do that, had promised himself once he'd fought his way out he wouldn't let himself go back ever again. He can't do it, to himself or to Kendall.

But how can Logan tell Kendall all he needs to know? Logan forgets himself when Kendall gets close to him, loses all resolve in the curve of a smile.

Logan wishes he could get into one of the practice rooms, solve his problems with the rattle of a snare and boom of the bass drum. This late at night, though, all the practice rooms are locked, so he does the next best thing.

Most musicians use their computers anymore to compose. Logan does on most occasions, the notes and strikes like flurries in his head, but times like these, where he has a huge block to work past, he prefers the use of paper and pencil. Sometimes his thoughts are a droning bassline, sometimes arpeggiated chords, sometimes they are scales that go up and up and up, tapering off at a note so high, Logan thinks no one could hear it.

If only his thoughts were soundwaves and he wouldn't have to say a word to communicate them, wouldn't have to watch Kendall's face fall before realization sets in and the inevitable hate twists his smile into something more like a snarl.

Logan is drawing circles and stems, filling in quarters and hollowing out whole notes. He doesn't know why, but he's bracketed two rows of staves, writing the treble along with the bass. There are these happy eighth notes flitting between chords, and he wonders what lyrics Kendall would write to make this mess of lines a song.

In the space between the staves, the space for the words, the space that Logan always leaves blank, he writes _I can't hear you._

Logan crumples the whole thing, tosses it in the garbage. He begins again with a similar formula. _Small things, Logan, _he thinks. _Start small. _He does want Kendall to know him, all of him, but Logan is just warming to the idea, finding the way.

He really sucks at talking about himself, giving away pieces of himself that could be used against him.

So in the empty place for lyrics, Logan writes, _I started taking drum lessons when I was eleven. My favorite color is green. I used to want to be a doctor. _He writes and writes humdrum facts about himself until he has pages full of words embraced and carried by music, deep and steady bass. His ridiculous words are safe and wound within and around what Logan knows best. Once he's written down the small things, he tries something harder, faster tempo, double forte. _I didn't have any friends growing up. The other kids made fun of me. I was alone a lot. I never wanted to admit I was missing something._

Logan thought of Kendall too, in the years after his accident, the years he gave in to hopelessness. He ached and yearned for a friend, someone fierce yet compassionate, strong-willed and kind. Someone who didn't hide away when other kids teased him. Logan waited and waited for him, letting himself be walked all over, until he realized no one was coming to save him. That was when Logan decided he didn't need _anyone. _

He'd never considered the idea that his champion had been waiting on him.

Logan finishes the composition with the most difficult thing of all, the words surrounded by sixteenth notes before the music stops all together. He finds some scissors and cuts the paper into sections, each sentence and measure separated until Logan has dozens of rectangles and squares.

Putting the first few pieces of paper in a plastic baggie, Logan seals it up tight and puts the other pieces in his desk drawer. He picks up his cell phone and sends a text.

_I need your help with something._

-K-

Kendall is thinking about Logan and pouring his cereal when he notices a folded slip of paper come out along with the cocoa puffs. His brow furrows, and he looks around the room skeptically.

He will injure anyone who messes with his favorite breakfast.

The piece of paper is horribly out of place amongst his delicious cereal, but he's wary of picking it up. It could have herpes on it or something. Which would mean his cocoa puffs now have herpes. He's getting less suspicious and more pissed when he finally decides to just unfold the paper and see who the fuck would dare sully his food.

There are two measures of music – lines perfectly straight and notes perfectly spherical – along with words written in neat, cursive script between the staves.

Kendall doesn't have to recognize the handwriting to know who penned the note.

_Small things, right? My birthday is September 14th. I'm expecting soda and cereal with marshmallows._

Kendall smiles until his face hurts.

He still eats the cereal.

-K-

Later, when Kendall puts on his beanie as he's leaving for work, he notices something that keeps poking him in the head. He thinks it's the tag, until he's on the bus and remembers his beanie totally doesn't have a tag. He takes the thing off his head and looks inside.

There's another piece of paper, folded into even quarters. Kendall laughs to himself, running his index finger along the perfect edges, presses his lips to the paper as though it were the man who wrote it.

Kendall opens the note and reads: _My mother didn't sing me to sleep. She hummed._

A soft grin on his face, Kendall takes his time refolding the note - ensuring it remains as immaculate as when delivered - and carefully slides it into his shirt pocket.

Kendall didn't miss the slow chords composed around the words.

And it's like he feels the note, the words, the music _thrum_humming over his chest all night at work, and he's never been so aware of the beat of his heart.

-K-

In two weeks, Kendall finds out exactly thirty-two random facts about Logan. Even the tiniest, most seemingly mundane things Logan reveals, Kendall holds as a treasure. He keeps each and every slip of paper, the notes Logan composed around the words telling him even more about the guy who wrote them. Kendall can almost see Logan rolling his eyes as he wrote _My parents still call me Logie Bear _or gritting his teeth when he wrote _When I first wanted to learn drums, I was refused by two instructors before I found mine. _Kendall ponders the last one for a moment, wondering about the rest of the story, deciding if it's important, Logan will reveal it to him in time.

It's like a grand egg hunt, and Kendall can't get enough of it. He's giddy, thrilled and triumphant. Because Logan is finally cracking.

At practice, the changes are so subtle any random onlookers wouldn't notice, but Kendall does. The unnecessary touches linger even longer now; the flirtatious grins and eyes blown wide are less covert.

To answer Logan's notes, Kendall begins some of his own. He unabashedly shoves them in Logan's pockets or stuffs them down the front of his shirt. Any excuse to touch him.

Kendall tells Logan how he'd wanted to play hockey forever, how his love for music snuck up on him. He tells Logan about Katie and his mom and about his neighbor, Mrs. Magicowski. He tells Logan about his appendix scar, his fear of wide open, empty spaces.

He tells Logan how he feels like they've known each other forever.

He tells Logan that he is the rhythm of his days, the cadence of his footsteps. Kendall tells Logan he hears him even when he's not around: the wind howling through the tall buildings downtown is a bass drum, the roll of tires on pavement are the snare, the metallic clang of the old cash register at work is the cymbal. He is the underlying staccato hiss of a wired drum brush when it rains.

Before he knows it, Kendall realizes he's not even telling about himself anymore.

-K-

"Logan looks great, doesn't he?" Carlos asks, arm propped on Kendall's shoulder.

Kendall acts like he wasn't just staring at Logan assembling his drum kit and shrugs. "Does he? I hadn't noticed." He's quickly shifted his attention to unrolling the mic chord.

James, who happens by and hears Kendall's reply, stops dead in his tracks and calls him out. "You owe me, big time," he says. "Logan let me dress him and I picked those super tight pants just for you."

"James, dude, shut the fuck up. He might hear you," Kendall hisses.

"I saw you checking out his ass," James continues, volume only rising.

"I swear, James, one more word and -"

"Try not to pop a boner while we're playing -"

Kendall drops the cord and leaps at James, slapping a hand over his mouth as he struggles. Kendall can feel James' smile against his palm, and Carlos is laughing like a hyena. James eventually slips from Kendall's grasp after licking the blond's hand, exchanging a fist bump with Carlos as they both cackle.

Despite being embarrassed, Kendall snorts at his friends' antics while casting a sly glance at Logan. He _does _look really great tonight, and it doesn't seem like he overheard James' ribbing, so Kendall lets himself stare (not like he ever, ever stops himself anyway). Kendall can tell Logan is a little nervous, his jacket shrugged off and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Kendall loves watching Logan doing anything at all with the drums. He's so confident and sure of himself and his hands are steady and _fuck _Kendall is losing it.

The more he learns about Logan, the harder it gets to remain a gentleman. His mother raised him right, raised him not to be pushy, raised him to keep his hands to himself. But dammit if he doesn't want to grope Logan. Just a little grope. Nothing too invasive. Kendall is blaming James for this, completely.

It's Christmas Eve, and their very first gig. They're not getting paid much, and aren't expecting much of a crowd but none of it tamps down their excitement. They can say now they've officially started, launched themselves forward, and Kendall just _knows, _just feels it in his gut that this is really something.

He's even more sure when they begin to play. Surprisingly, there are more people at a bar on Christmas Eve than expected, and it's a great, responsive crowd. They play some old and new songs, only two originals. Kendall's favorite is when they do "Smells Like Teen Spirit" because Logan is amazing with it. It's not the best cover of the song, because, come on, James can't come close to Kurt Cobain's rasping, cool voice, but Logan annihilates it every single time they practice it. He doesn't disappoint tonight.

Logan closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip, both his knees bouncing in time like there's no part of himself he can hold still. The lights are low, but not so low that Kendall can't see Logan sweating, drops of perspiration rolling down his temples, beading on his forehead, his crazy head of hair even crazier as he moves. Logan is not usually one to showboat, Kendall knows that, but when he finally opens his eyes again to see Kendall staring at him, he _fucking winks, _and twirls a drumstick through his fingers before he comes back in full force on the toms.

Then it's like this play for power between the two of them, Kendall giving Logan a look loaded with want and challenge and lust and playful abandon. Logan quirks a brow, and Kendall mouths out, _Cocky bastard._

Logan only returns with what Kendall thinks are the words, _Try to keep up._

The only thing Kendall can do about it is wail harder on his guitar, bend the strings and ring out this awesome, cacophonous noise that somehow works because he's frustrated and feeling and soaring and Logan winked at him and they're flirting in a very flirty way and he's happy as fuck. It's like the other guys pick up on the surge too, and James is singing his goddamn heart out, the veins in his neck straining, and Carlos is bending his knees and moving in time with the beat.

When it's over and the applause and catcalls and whistles have died out, James thanks the crowd. There are some girls who blow them kisses, and James and Carlos revel in it.

Kendall can only look at Logan, panting and red-faced and flying high from the music. Kendall thinks he might be imagining it, but he swears he sees some longing in Logan's expression along with the elation. Carlos and James congratulate themselves and talk to the crowd, but Logan and Kendall just move closer to each other. When he gets close enough, Kendall sees himself in Logan's wide pupils, his face surrounded by a thin circle of brown.

"You're really great at this," Logan says, and Kendall can barely hear him over the bustle of the crowd, the pre-recorded music that has begun playing.

Kendall shakes his head. "I'm nothing compared to you."

Logan smiles - disbelieving, boyish, beautiful - and says, "I mean all of this." He gestures to the stage, the crowd. "Everyone will love you someday."

Kendall scoffs at the comment, shuffles forward until he playfully bumps Logan's shoulder with his own. He leans in to Logan, lips close to his ear and whispers, "I wasn't playing for everyone, and I really only care what you think of me." Kendall lingers a moment, soaking in the heat rolling from Logan's exerted flesh, breathing in the scent of soap and sweat and a tiny bit of cologne and Logan. It would be so easy to lean in and press his lips against Logan's throat, feel the booming of Logan's pulse right against his mouth.

Logan moves before Kendall has a chance to do anything dumb. He looks at Kendall, mere inches away, and asks, "Did you say something?"

Kendall laughs, but it's not exactly a happy sound. "Nevermind."

Logan's expression shifts from absolute joy to inexplicable dejection in a snap. "No, tell me. I'm sorry, Ken, I just didn't hear you. I'm not ignoring you, I swear."

"Logan, it's okay. I was just being dumb. It's not important."

Logan's mouth opens like he's going to say something else, but James and Carlos interrupt, shouting about how great they were, how everyone thought they were awesome. Kendall and Logan can't help but get caught up in their jubilation.

Kendall thinks Logan has forgotten what he didn't hear, but as they're loading their equipment into the rental van, Logan says, "Could we talk later? I need to tell you something."

Kendall only nods.

-K-

Logan and Kendall ride back to the house behind the van driven by James and Carlos. Logan doesn't say a word, but Kendall can feel Logan's eyes all over him, not even trying to hide his stare. Kendall catches his eyes in his peripheral from time to time, sometimes looks at him fully for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the road. Logan doesn't shy away once.

Kendall wants to reach over, move his hand from the steering wheel and rest it on Logan's knee. Maybe Logan would take his hand, weave their fingers together, twine them tightly as the scarves his mother used to knit when he was small.

But Kendall has sworn to let Logan make the first move. There's no hiding the fact Logan is scared of something, and Kendall won't be the one to push him.

They're unloading at home, not really trying to be quiet even though it's close to midnight. Logan begins meticulously setting his kit back up once they are inside, and Kendall knows he's stalling.

Carlos and James announce they're going to sleep, Carlos insisting they have to be in bed before the clock turns twelve or Santa might not come. Kendall affectionately ruffles his hair as he and James leave the room. Kendall turns toward Logan, who has stopped working on the drums and is absentmindedly tapping the cymbal with an index finger.

"Do you want to go into the living room?" Kendall asks.

Logan quickly darts his eyes to Kendall's mouth. "Sorry. What?"

Kendall sighs, lets out a tired chuckle. "Do you want to go into the living room? You wanted to talk, right?"

Logan nods quickly, sitting up straight. He knocks the drumsticks off the snare and they clatter to the floor. Lurching to reach for them, he knocks over the cymbal, one of the toms crashing to the ground with a loud clatter. Logan scrambles trying to right everything, and Kendall walks over to help.

"Just leave it," Logan says, exasperated and fidgeting like a five-year-old. "Let's go sit."

"Okay," Kendall replies, unable to hamper the laughter bubbling out at Logan's bumbling.

"You're laughing at me," Logan observes.

"No, I'm not."

Logan cocks his head to the side, a crooked smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Yes, you are."

"Okay, maybe I am." It sounds dumb in his head, cheesy, but Kendall adds, "You just make me happy, is all."

There's shock and something else on Logan's face at Kendall's statement. Relief? Logan seems to really think it over a moment, a hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing, eyes on his shoes before they move back to Kendall. "You make me afraid," Logan says, finally.

Kendall feels sick. So he really does creep Logan out. Great.

"No, Kendall, stop. It's not like it sounds. Being around you makes me feel a lot of things. Things I'm scared of because –"

Logan's words are drowned out by the ringing of Kendall's phone. "Shit, sorry," Kendall says, pulling his phone from his pocket, the time display showing it's just past midnight above a number Kendall doesn't recognize, but it's a Minnesota area code.

Kendall answers with a wary, "Hello?"

And it's his goddamn piece of shit dad, telling him Merry Fucking Christmas.

-L-

Logan isn't sure who's calling Kendall, the blond turning around abruptly after answering. Logan politely leaves the room, finds his way into the living area and collapses into one of the bean bag chairs. He's exhausted, drained, his arms like jelly and his emotions like a ten ton weight.

He really wishes he could just tell Kendall how much the other guy has come to mean to him. It's the dumbest most nonsensical thing, but Logan becomes more and more unsettled the less he is around Kendall. It's like he feels jumpy and nervous, balanced on the edge of a knife. He's antsy and finds himself pacing, counting down the minutes until he can be in Kendall's presence again. And when Logan sees him, the first glance is a balm, a long drink of water, the memory of sung lullabies.

Then there are the things Kendall has been writing him, tiny strips of paper with doodles of smiley faces and flowers and taxi cabs and light posts along with whatever thoughts might be crossing Kendall's mind. Logan has never felt wanted before, never felt he was desired so much as he was a burden.

If only Logan could stop being such a coward, open his mouth and tell Kendall everything. They're at an impasse until he does. Logan is thinking and thinking and thinking, and he doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep until Kendall is gently waking him.

"What time is it?" Logan asks.

"A little after one," Kendall answers, falling into the bean bag next to Logan and rubbing his face. Even in the low light, Logan can tell Kendall's eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks blotchy.

"You okay?" Logan asks. He wants to slap himself in the face. Obviously, Kendall is not okay.

Kendall doesn't answer, doesn't look at Logan. The corners of his mouth are downturned and trembling, and Logan can tell he's biting the inside of his mouth.

"It's okay," Logan says. "You don't have to talk—"

"He said I'm an idiot," Kendall interrupts. "He said I should've taken that hockey scholarship. He says I'm wasting my _talent._" He's still staring at his hands, his fingers gripping the fabric of his jeans until his knuckles are white.

Logan doesn't have to ask who _he _is. It isn't hard to guess. There's this swell of anger in Logan, crashing over him with the force of a tsunami. Nobody should be allowed to make Kendall look the way he is now: broken, sad, a reflection a little boy abandoned. Logan can't bear to think of how he's been the source of that heartbreak.

"He's the fucking idiot," Logan seethes. "Because you're right where you need to be, and you're amazing and smart and funny and kind and a kickass guitar player. I'm sure you're fucking fantastic at hockey, but you belong here. With me." Logan stops and clears his throat. "I mean with _us._ Me and James and Carlos."

Kendall's head snaps up. An almost-smile, a sad kind of watery smile twitches at the corners of his mouth, and he says, "I don't think I've ever heard you say the word _fuck _before." Then his shoulders start to shake and Logan thinks maybe Kendall is laughing until he hides his face in his hands. Logan just sits there a moment, doesn't know what the hell to do because he really, really is not good at people.

But he really, really wants to be good at Kendall.

So he struggles his way out of the chair, crawls on his knees the two feet separating them and wraps his arms around Kendall's shoulders, squeezes him close to stop his shaking. It's not even three seconds before Kendall's arms go around Logan's chest, and he buries his face in the crook of Logan's neck, the brunet's t-shirt quickly becoming wet.

And Kendall is either sobbing or mumbling, but, of course, Logan can't tell which, so he only holds him tighter, whispers comforting words and promises of how everything will be okay, tells him how perfect he is and brilliant and more than any parent could ever ask for.

When Kendall eventually calms, he reluctantly moves his face from Logan's neck, but leaves his arms firmly around the brunet's middle. They're just sitting in the low light, Logan aware of Kendall's warm shoulders against his forearms, and he brings his fingertips to Kendall's cheeks, tentatively wiping away the shiny trails of tears. He stops the movement of his hands, fingers splayed on Kendall's cheeks and lets himself get lost for a moment in the heat of Kendall's gaze.

"Stay with me tonight," Kendall says, the warmth of his words reaching out and caressing Logan's lips, the promise of a kiss making them throb. "I won't do anything creepy, I promise."

_What if I wanted you to? _Logan thinks. Instead he just says, "Okay."

So they unwind themselves and Logan follows Kendall into the bedroom. The others are sound asleep. Kendall slides under the covers of his tiny bed and doesn't hesitate to open his arms to Logan. Logan forgets his hesitations, as well, eagerly climbing into the bed and slotting himself next to Kendall, facing him, their legs twining together.

Before he lets the warmth and comfort soothe him to sleep, Logan reaches out, slides the fingers of his left hand with Kendall's right until their palms are flush, resting on Kendall's hip. There is a steady _thump thump _in their hands that Logan can clearly feel.

So Logan falls asleep, already having memorized the cadence of Kendall's heart.


	9. Playback

**Author's note: **I can't believe this thing has made it to 100 reviews. Wow, guys, thank you so much. I think, maybe, some of the things you've all been waiting for happen in this chapter. Finally, yeah? I love, love, love all of you. Just saying.

-L-

Logan doesn't go back to his dorm until it's time for the new semester to begin. It doesn't take much convincing on Kendall's part. Kendall tells him to just borrow clothes from Carlos so he doesn't have to leave for that either, although Kendall insists Logan borrow underwear from him. Logan has never ever _ever _in a bazillion years thought the idea of wearing someone else's unmentionables would do anything but squick him out, but he finds it's not so bad.

They develop this routine, fall into it quickly in only two weeks time. Logan makes coffee for all four guys, Kendall pours the cereal for himself and Logan, James is not a morning person and Carlos is happy no matter what time of day it is. They practice. Carlos and Kendall go to work. James works on his tan. Logan arranges music, reads a book, thinks about Kendall. It's comfortable. It works. Logan belongs, and his fondness not only stretches for Kendall but for the other guys as well.

The nights are the worst and best time for Logan. Kendall is right there, and his twin bed is so small they can't help but press up against each other. Even if Logan tries to leave a space, it never fails he wakes up slammed up against Kendall, his ear against the other man's chest or lips buried in his hair. Not that he actually minds. But there are still secrets between them, and even if their bodies are flush, even if Logan wakes up too hot with Kendall's sweat intermingling with his own, there's still a silent lacuna keeping them separate.

Logan was going to tell Kendall on Christmas morning, but he gave Logan that glockenspiel from the music shop. Logan in turn gave Kendall a snow globe – which Logan was hesitant about after the wonderful gift from Kendall – because he'd been mentioning how much he missed Minnesota winters. Inside the globe was a tiny, toothless hockey player with a silly grin. Kendall loved it; he was so happy, such a contrast from the night before, Logan couldn't do it then.

He was going to tell him that night, but Kendall asked him to stay again, not to leave unless he had to, saying the word _please _with such hope and fear that Logan couldn't do it then either.

On and on it goes, Logan's excuses running thin, his notes running out. It's getting harder to hide, as well; the closer they become the more Kendall murmurs and mumbles and whispers things in Logan's ear. Sometimes he asks Kendall to repeat things, but most of the time he just smiles and lets it go.

When school starts back, Logan still hasn't kept his promise to James and told Kendall. Logan can tell James is getting antsy about it himself, giving Logan loaded looks and questioning stares. It doesn't stop James from covering for Logan from time to time, but Logan can tell it's not going to last much longer. The pretty guy has been so willing to help Logan, and it makes him feel even worse about dragging James into this whole thing.

Not much longer now.

-L-

Camille corners Logan their first day back.

"Why didn't you text me?" she huffs. "Did you tell him? How'd he take it? Did you get lucky? How was the gig? How's the pretty guy doing?"

"Whoa, yeah, slow down," Logan replies, chuckling at Camille's flailing. He missed her, only just realizing it. "Why, yes, Camille, I had a lovely holiday. How was yours?"

"Logan," Camille whines, "tell me, tell me now."

"Speaking of James, he wants your number. Do you want me to give him your number?"

"Oh, you can't pull that bullshit on me. Don't avoid my questions." She puts her hand next to her mouth as though shielding it from any passer-by. "Sure, you can give him my number."

Logan makes a grand show of pulling his phone from his pocket and sending Camille's number to James. "There. Done."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Damn it, Logan, did you tell Kendall?" Camille's gesturing wildly now, her mouth open wide and Logan is sure she's shouting.

"Shh, could you keep it down? No, I didn't tell him yet, all right?"

"No, that's not all right." Camille grabs Logan's arm and tugs him to a nearby bench and sits him down while she remains standing. She points at him like a mother scolding a child. "Tell me everything right now, Logan Mitchell."

Logan rolls his eyes, takes a deep breath. "I slept with him," Logan says, placing the back of his hand against his forehead in mock dramatics, wilting against the bench like a damsel in distress.

"What? Logan, you dog. Was it good? Did he make you walk all funny the next day? Are you dating now?"

"Slow down!" Logan sits up straight again, pats the seat next to him on the bench. "And why do you automatically assume I would bottom? Never mind, don't answer that."

"Out with the details."

"Well, if Kendall snored, I didn't hear it."

"Logan…" Camille warns.

"And he doesn't really drool, but he does sweat a lot in his sleep."

"Logan…" Camille says again.

"I think he might be a sleeptalker, but it never woke me up."

Camille slaps Logan's arm, playfully tries to shove him off the bench. Their eyes meet and Camille frowns. "Why didn't you tell him?"

"I was going to tell him the night of the gig, but his dad called and got Kendall really upset. I just…couldn't."

"Is that when you had sex? It was sad, passionate, comfort sex?"

"We didn't have sex, Camille."

"But you said –"

"We _slept _together. I, uh, held his hand. That was it. I actually stayed there up until yesterday." Logan looks away, the memory of Kendall's fingers causing Logan to move his eyes to his hand, the emptiness of it now making him ache.

When Logan looks at Camille again, she makes that silly _Oh, how sweet! _face, and Logan blushes. He goes on to tell her about the notes, about how much he's learned about Kendall, but he keeps the fact that Kendall was supposed to have been in his life much sooner a secret. That, he's not ready to say out loud to anyone yet, and the first time he does he feels like it should be to Kendall.

"I told you it would get harder the longer you waited," Camille says. "He's got it bad."

"What? No, he doesn't," Logan scoffs.

"I've only met the guy once, and just from what you tell me, I know he's got it bad." She flicks Logan's forehead, not harshly, adding, "You've got it bad, too."

Logan begins to shake his head, tries to stammer out a flimsy denial, but instead remains silent.

After class, Logan locks himself in his room, adding a bridge to the song - more notes - stalling for time.

He's not ready to lose Kendall yet.

-L-

The band plays more bars and clubs, almost every weekend, sometimes the random weekday. People on campus are starting to recognize Logan as he goes along. It's bizarre and disconcerting, because they don't know anything about Logan, but complete strangers keep coming up to him, telling him he's badass or a fucking genius or sick as hell on the drums. He worries about what he's missing. He's worried someone will find out.

He trudges on though, almost a full month passing. Sometimes, after band practice, Logan and Kendall just sit together, fingers twined, thighs pressed together, but Kendall never tries anything more. Logan is both grateful and frustrated.

It's closing in on Valentine's Day when James approaches Logan. They've just finished another gig, and Logan is still riding high from the thrill of it. James' expression quickly sucks all the leftover excitement from the set.

"Logan, man, what are you doing?" James asks.

Logan looks down at the drum in his hands, deciding to play dumb. "Taking apart a drum kit?"

"Nuh uh, you know what I mean." James takes the drum from Logan, places it at his feet. "Kendall is crazy about you. Okay? You're all I hear about anymore. And, don't get me wrong, I like you, dude, but there are some things that are just too much, you know?"

Logan really doesn't know, but he nods anyway.

"He's planning on asking you out again. He says it's going to be as friends and shit, but we all know better. You know better, right?"

Logan only nods again.

"He says he's going to ask you to go out with him the day _after _Valentine's Day – it's a Saturday – so it's not, like, a Valentine's date and you feel all pressured, but it's totally a Valentine's Day date."

"O-Okay," Logan mumbles. He tries not to let his stomach do that dumb flipping thing it does when he knows Kendall has been talking about him. He tries to swallow down the speed of his heart when the words "date" and "Kendall" present themselves in the same thought.

James doesn't bother to move in closer, knowing Logan will read his lips no matter the volume. "Kendall is a great guy, Logan. The way he feels about you isn't going to change just because you're deaf. I know you like him, and I know you've got a lot on your plate, but don't fuck around with him anymore. Either tell him and date him, or tell him and don't date him." He pauses. "I like you, dude, don't get me wrong, but Kendall means a lot to me. If you don't tell him by that un-Valentine's Day date, I will."

Logan isn't shocked or offended at James' bluntness; in fact, he's been expecting it for a month now. "I'm sorry, James, I know this hasn't been easy and I just want you to know how much I appreciate… I want you to know it means… Just, thank you. Thanks, for being a friend to me." For a moment, Logan allows himself to ponder what it would have been like growing up with James and Carlos, having not one protector but three. It hurts too much to think on, so he blocks it out. No use worrying over it now.

James purses his lips, putting a comforting hand on Logan's shoulder. "Tell hot girl I said _hello._"

Logan laughs, the mood lifted in a sentence. "Can't you just call or text her?"

"Yeah, but this way she knows I was talking about her to you. It gets me points. Tell her I said she makes my heart get all speedy and stuff. You know, talk me up."

"I can do that. I owe you anyway."

"Dude, you practically owe me your firstborn. Forget that, I don't want your firstborn. Just name him after me. If it's a girl name her Jamesmina."

"What about just _Jamie_?"

"Yeah, that too."

-L-

Kendall does ask Logan out – as friends, of course – and he's so sweet and earnest and cute that Logan barely lets Kendall finish before he's agreeing. Kendall is sure to emphasize the word _friend _many times, stating that going out on February 15th is _not _a Valentine's Day date.

He insists on picking up Logan at his dorm, despite the fact the outing is supposed to be an un-date. He borrows the van James' mom bought for him as a belated Christmas present (honestly, it was just James begging for something to move their equipment, pleading with Mrs. Diamond and stating it was another "investment").

"Where are we going?" Logan asks, sliding into the vehicle as Kendall holds the door open for him. Kendall had been sure to tell Logan to dress comfortably, asking him to be ready by 10 a.m., so Logan is curious about what they'll be doing.

"Is it okay if it's a surprise?" Kendall asks, watching Logan buckle his safety belt. He doesn't wait for Logan to answer before closing the door.

"Um, sure?" Logan replies, even though Kendall is already making his way to the driver's side. He's bouncing and smiling and giddy, and Logan can't get over that he can make someone that happy with just his presence.

Reaching into his pocket, he closes his fingers around the note that might ruin it all. How could Kendall still want Logan after he finds out the brunet can't even hear what Kendall prizes most in the world? Logan has never been anything but inadequate, at least since that horrible day at the swimming pool.

Kendall climbs into the van and buckles in, and once he's driven to the highway, hesitantly places his hand palm up on his thigh, giving Logan a hopeful look. Logan's heart flutters as he slides his fingers through Kendall's, soaking in as much warmth and rhythm and fondness as he can.

"You've been sad lately," Kendall says, face turned toward the road but Logan still gets the statement. "Your notes have been sad things."

It's the first either guy has said out loud about the notes, and it's strange that Kendall can speak about them so frankly. Logan has a hard time even thinking about them without getting flustered.

"Those are just the things harder to tell," Logan replies, simply. "I guess bringing them up makes me a little sad."

"Logan, you don't have to tell me _anything _you're not ready to." Kendall chances a quick glance in Logan's direction, squeezes his hand.

"That's not true, Ken." Kendall squeezes Logan's hand again at the shortened name. "There are things I need to tell you that I'll never be ready to," Logan finishes, voice shaking and catching in his throat. Logan can feel the thickness of it, the words heavy as bass, choking him with fear.

"Anyway, it seems to me like you didn't get to do a lot of kid stuff, right?"

It's true; Logan's parents were so fearful of Logan's delicate condition, his seemingly detrimental emotional state, that they didn't take him to do normal, kid things. He didn't go to amusement parks or play laser tag or visit water parks. By the time he felt up to those sorts of things, his parents had forgotten what it was to have a normal son.

"No, not really," Logan answers. He notices they've arrived at wherever it is they're going as Kendall parks, jumps out of the van and runs to open Logan's door.

"So I thought about that a lot," Kendall continues as the pair begins walking, "and I wanted to take you to do something really fun, something that you would also love."

They stroll a few more blocks before their destination comes into view. The building itself is relatively plain, and Logan scans the outside for something to give away its contents. As they get closer, he can see inside the glass doors, and there are children running around, bright colors everywhere. They stop when they reach the entryway, and Logan turns to give Kendall a quizzical look.

"It's the children's museum," Kendall says. "It's dumb, right?" His cheeks get all rosy and he starts babbling. "I was looking at it online and they have this really cool musical exhibit called _Rhythms of the World _and there are a lot of hands on things and I know how you like to touch speakers and feel the vibrations when it comes to making music and I just thought it'd be neat to –"

"Kendall," Logan interrupts, the small grin on his face spreading into a full-fledged smile, because he's excited. These kid museums are supposed to have all kinds of fun exhibits with science and math and culture and art. "This is perfect. I've always wanted to go to one of these. I, uh, actually wanted to go here, but thought it might seem odd to just show up all by myself. I didn't want to creep out any moms."

"Oh, shit, yeah, I didn't think about that. Do you think we'll creep out the moms?"

Logan has to resist the urge a thousand times to reach out and pull Kendall close, kiss him right on the mouth until they're both breathless. Because of all the places Kendall could've taken Logan, he picked the perfect one. So Logan just shakes his head.

"Despite what you might think," Logan says, "you are the farthest thing from creepy."

And Logan decides to really let go and have fun, breathe Kendall in and relish the joy of his company, get as much of it as he can because there's no telling if he'll still have it tomorrow.

Logan checks his pocket again.

-L-

Logan finally understands what it is to be a kid. He's practically running from place to place, banging on drums and clanging out on percussion instruments he's only ever read about: marimba, woodblocks, boo-bams, burma gongs, darabukkas, even _fucking _table spoons. There are trash cans and pipes, tambourines and sleigh bells. Logan booms and bangs and slaps and taps and hits until he's sure the noise he's producing is horrendous, but Kendall is right next to him, wide open laughing smile, and Logan knows this is what it would have been like almost every day if they had grown together as intended.

There's this big part of him trying to be sad about that, trying to overrun his joy and make him mope and moan, but Kendall doesn't give him the time. He's saving Logan without realizing it, and Logan is grabbing Kendall's hand and dragging him to the next thing and the next.

Kendall climbs into this giant airplane exhibit, tries to put the tiny goggles and hat on and fails, leaving them comically perched on his head. He pulls Logan in to sit next to him, but there really isn't the space, and Logan ends up pretty much in his lap as he pretends to steer, his lips vibrating as he makes airplane noises.

Before long, Logan is leading him back to the music exhibit, because there was more to see. He finds this room where soundwaves are translated into colors and shapes, one whole wall exploding in different hues. Logan stomps into the room, each step causing an explosion like fireworks on the wall. He shouts and claps his hands. There are microphones picking up the sounds, and Kendall walks over to one and is talking into it. Logan looks to Kendall and then to the wall, the colors moving like a wave, smooth and lovely.

"You should sing," Logan says.

"What, like, now?"

"Yeah, now." Logan rolls his eyes. "I want to see what it looks like," he says, pointing to the wall, sitting right in the middle of the floor and crossing his legs.

Kendall shrugs and begins to sing. He closes his eyes and immediately loses himself in it, like making love to the microphone, and Logan hates to look away from Kendall when he's so deep into his music, passion and intensity undulating from him. But he does, eyes turned to the wall as it lights up with Kendall's voice, circles and spots in blues and purples and yellows. Logan can almost imagine Kendall's voice, tries to summon up the memory of the most beautiful thing he ever heard and harmonize that memory with Kendall's colors. He doesn't know what song Kendall is singing, his mouth covered by the mic, but he's sure it's the most exquisite thing to ever cross his ears.

The color stops in the quiet of the room, and Logan turns to Kendall. The other guy is staring at him – fondness and longing and something like love. Logan can't maintain eye contact, a short laugh parting his lips as he stands and breaks the stillness.

Logan approaches Kendall, and the blond says, "I want to go to the wishing wall," so they do.

On the wall, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny slips of paper shoved into the spaces between bricks. Logan can see sloppy, child-like handwriting peeking between different folds. He's sure it's full of wishes for ponies and dolls and endless amounts of candy. He's taking it all in when Kendall hands him a slip of paper.

Logan doesn't know what he should write on it. There are so many wishes he could make, but the only one he really wants to come true would be impossible to grant. He takes a pencil and writes it down anyway.

_I wish I'd never jumped off that diving board._

He folds it up tight, shoves it far inside the wall, hoping maybe there's some power deep, deep down inside that could somehow rewind his life. Logan doesn't want to be regretful, couldn't ever imagine anything making him so bitter about his accident, until he met Kendall and found what they could've been.

Logan watches Kendall place his wish farther down the wall.

"You ready to go?" Kendall asks.

"Yeah, sure." Logan looks at his watch. "Wow, have we really been here, like, five hours?"

Kendall nods, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm just going to run to the bathroom real quick."

As soon as he leaves, Logan has the horrible urge to see what Kendall wrote. He knows he shouldn't, normally wouldn't, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He feels like an ass, because he's pretty damn certain Kendall wouldn't nose around in his wish, but he just can't stop himself from sneakily pulling the note from the wall. Unfolding it, Logan glances around as though he's doing something illegal. What he reads on the paper makes him soar and crash in the same heartbeat.

_I wish Logan loved me as much as I do him._

-L-

Kendall asks Logan if he wants to come over. He says yes, the note in his pocket burning with a white-hot fire. He's not ready for this, will never, ever be ready for this, but there's no putting it off anymore.

No one else is home, and Logan is glad for that at least.

"You wanna play some?" Kendall asks.

"No one else is here, Kendall," Logan replies.

"We can just mess around. I thought I might play some folk for you so you can understand how awesome it can be."

Logan just agrees, thinking it won't matter how he can't pick up on the vibrations of Kendall's acoustic guitar because he's about to give everything away anyway.

They go into the pantry and Kendall settles in on his stool, strumming and tuning his acoustic. Logan gravitates toward his drummer's throne, but at the last minute takes the stool only a few feet from Kendall.

"I'm assuming you don't need percussion for this?" Logan asks.

Kendall shakes his head and smiles as he begins to play. "Do you know Joni Mitchell?"

"Not personally, but I know who she is." Logan gulps. "Can't say I've ever heard anything of hers."

"That's too bad," Kendall retorts, "because she's one of the best singer/songwriters of the twentieth century."

"Has someone been on _Wikipedia?_" Logan jokes.

"Maybe. But Mom listened to the album _Blue _on repeat for most of my young life," Kendall replies, still playing with the strings and trying to be serious, the crooked grin on his face giving him away. He closes his eyes and starts singing, Logan reading the lyrics from Kendall's lips.

_Just before our love got lost you said  
"I am as constant as a northern star"  
And I said, "Constantly in the darkness  
Where's that at?  
If you want me I'll be in the bar"_

And Logan had only ever thought he wanted to hear things, that he was missing things - the trill of a bird, the whispering of the wind, giddy laughter – but nothing could ever hurt as much as the silence he's in right now.

Kendall sings on into the first chorus.

_Oh you're in my blood like holy wine  
You taste so bitter and so sweet  
Oh I could drink a case of you darling  
Still I'd be on my feet  
Oh I would still be on my feet_

Logan stands and moves close to Kendall, deciding he's going to take advantage of the moments he has left in which Kendall loves him. Kendall's eyes are still closed, and he jumps when Logan splays his fingers against Kendall's throat. He stops playing.

"Please, don't stop," Logan says, placing his other hand on Kendall's guitar. Kendall doesn't hesitate to begin again, leaning into Logan's touch. It's awkward playing with Logan's hands on him, but Kendall manages.

Kendall's voice is traveling to Logan's fingers, up his arm and planting in his heart. His whole body is thrumming, humming and warming from the vibration. Logan watches Kendall's mouth closely, feeling and seeing and hearing Kendall the best way he can.

When Kendall reaches the lyrics _"Go to him, stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed" _Logan's eyes burn, and he hurts everywhere, because Kendall doesn't even know yet how true the line is, how Logan has already broken Kendall's heart, will probably break his heart forever.

The song is finished, and Logan decides folk music isn't bad at all, not if it causes Kendall to look at him the way he is now. Kendall just lets his guitar slide to the floor, the bang hard enough to be felt in Logan's feet. Logan's fingers are still on Kendall's throat, and he puts the hand that was on the guitar against Kendall's chest, searching out the _thumpthump _he has come to know so well.

Kendall's hands find their way to Logan's wrists, slide up his forearms. They're holding each other with hands and eyes and Logan leans in even closer so Kendall can put the palm of his hand on Logan's chest. And they're feeling each other out, waiting for the moment when their rhythms sync and their hearts are beating in the same time. It's a moment that lasts hours and seconds.

Logan wants a kiss, even if it's hello and goodbye and everything in between.

There's a pause once he's brought his lips within inches of Kendall's, the blond's lips parting as a breath rushes past. Logan drinks it in before finally pressing his mouth to Kendall's.

And they are bass and treble, strikes and notes, the meeting of their mouths like pianissimo, soft and searching, a crescendo building. A want flares in Logan like he's never known, a primal need burning in his stomach, down to his knees and all the spaces in between. He's shaking all over and climbing into Kendall's lap, pressing their bodies together in an intimate way Logan hadn't let himself imagine before, and Kendall is playing Logan's mouth with tongue, teeth and lips.

Logan is losing himself as Kendall's hands rove to his back, sneak up his shirt and dig in with fingertips and nails. Logan rocks forward, almost causing them both to topple off the stool, but Kendall catches them, his feet planted on the floor. Kendall is laughing into Logan's mouth, and he never knew joy had a flavor until this moment.

Kendall pulls back, brings his hands to Logan's cheeks and hair, runs thumbs over his lips. He's smiling and shy and looking at Logan like he's just roped the moon. "Do you," he pauses to swallow, "do you want to go to my room?"

The suggestion thrusts Logan back to reality. He can't proceed, can't do any more until Kendall knows.

"I can't," Logan says.

"Oh," Kendall replies. "I'm sorry. I'm being dumb again, um, I know you've never –"

"It's not that," Logan interrupts. "That's true, but…"

He can't say it out loud. He can't, he can't, he can't. So he stands, reaches into his pocket, unfolds the note and runs his fingers over the words _I can't hear you. _He lets out a long, slow breath and hands it to Kendall, the paper visibly moving with Logan's trembling.

Kendall reads the note, his brows pulling together as he shakes his head. He finally looks back to Logan.

"What does this mean?"

"I'm deaf, Kendall," Logan replies.


	10. Conflicts and Clarities

**Author's Note: **Hi, guys! I don't think I got to do review replies for everyone last chapter, and I'm so sorry about that. If you didn't get one, just know I love you so much and each and every review makes me stupid giddy. This chapter is probably a little frustrating. Maybe? But the next chapter is almost complete and with enough encouragement, I might just post it tomorrow. Hell, maybe later tonight. Thanks so much for everything.

-K-

"You're d-deaf? Like, you can't hear me talking right now?" Kendall asks, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He wants to spit out rapid fire questions like gunshots, but his mouth refuses to cooperate.

Logan nods.

Kendall stares and stares at Logan, his nose, his eyes, the curves of his ears, his lips. They've known each other for months; Kendall has memorized every tiny bit of Logan's movements, his revealing facial expressions, his mannerisms. How could he not have guessed?

"How? What happened?" Kendall asks.

Logan appears calm at first glance, but Kendall doesn't miss the shaking of his hands, the slight tremor in his shoulders. His eyes are huge and bottomless brown.

"I hit my head on a diving board when I was eight."

For a moment, Kendall pictures a young version of Logan, broken and bleeding, scared and in pain. The idea of it twists Kendall's heart, an agonizing lurch in his chest.

"Don't look at me like that," Logan demands, shaking his head and stepping back.

"Like what?"

"With pity," Logan replies. "I don't need it."

The reaction from Logan puts Kendall on edge. He's not trying to offer up pity, far from it, so he ignores the remark.

"How could you...keep...something like this from me?"

"I-I didn't want you guys to judge me by what I _can't _do. And would you stop with that look?" Logan says, his voice gaining volume and offense.

"Logan, what are you even talking about? And, wait, how do you know what I'm saying? How do you know what we're playing when we play? How are you so good?" It seems like Logan takes a step back with every question, the distance between them now seeming impassable.

Kendall can tell Logan is becoming overwhelmed; he all but collapses, sitting on an amp and hiding his face in his hands. Kendall wants to go to him, pull Logan in his arms and tell him it's okay, but Kendall doesn't know if that's true anymore.

"Are you going to talk to me about this?" Kendall asks. Logan doesn't answer.

"Hey, Logan," Kendall shouts. Logan still doesn't answer. The memory of Logan ignoring Kendall the first time he asked the drummer out forces its way to the forefront of Kendall's mind: Logan's eyes firmly on his drums, Kendall not looking at him and playing the guitar.

Logan never heard a word of it.

Kendall remembers Logan putting his hands on the speakers at the audition, recalls how all Logan's favorite songs are all rowdy, heavy hitting things. All of it, every last oddity about Logan makes sense now.

So all the dumb things Kendall whispered in Logan's ear, all the affection and praise he'd tried to pass along were pointless, wasted words. He feels his cheeks heat up at the thought.

Logan's face is still hidden, his fingers in his hair and palms over his eyes. Kendall knows now that he could scream at the top of his lungs and Logan wouldn't know the difference. He can't wrap his mind around it.

"Logan!" Kendall shouts, brief and harsh.

Nothing.

Kendall stomps his feet. Logan jumps.

What other secrets does he have?

Logan finally looks to Kendall again, his eyes red around the edges, wide and glossy.

"Why didn't you trust me?" Kendall asks when it becomes obvious Logan isn't going to answer any of the others questions.

Kendall isn't an asshole. He wouldn't have made fun of Logan or rejected him because he's different.

"I didn't know you," Logan whispers.

"What about now, Logan? Why don't you trust me now?" Kendall asks, and the question hurts when voiced, because Kendall trusted Logan instantly, handed his heart over to the guy without a second thought.

"I-I'm trying, Ken—"

"It's been months and months," Kendall interrupts. "How did I not know?"

"You know more about me than anyone," Logan deadpans.

There's this horrible, aching, deep sense of betrayal spreading from Kendall's heart, filling him up with confusion, threatening to suffocate the seeds of affection Logan planted there at first glance.

If there's one thing in this whole world Kendall _hates, _it's dishonesty. He's an idiot, a fool, the butt of a joke.

Kendall touches his lips, still warm and wet, the flavor of Logan still fresh on his mouth. That kiss. _That kiss _was incredible. In the moment, it felt like everything Kendall had ever wished for. It pushed aside dreams of fame, of adoration, of immortality through music. It was what he wanted yesterday, today and tomorrow. It was timeless.

But maybe all that was a figment of Kendall's imagination, something bred from an untruth.

"You…Logan, you _lied _to me," Kendall chokes.

Logan stands and walks toward Kendall one step before stopping. It's like he's hit a wall and can't go any farther.

"I never lied to you," Logan answers, shaking his head, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

"But isn't keeping something like this a secret the same as lying?" Kendall asks, mirroring Logan's posture.

Kendall is still trying to process it all; Logan _is _a motherfucking genius. Trying to keep his thoughts straight, Kendall imagines being in a world without sound when all he wants to do is make music. He tries to imagine telling someone he can't hear a thing and wanting them to take him seriously. Would Kendall have taken Logan seriously? He'd like to think so.

"But, Kendall, you told me—"

"What did I ever do to make you not trust me? To not even give me a chance?"

"Nothing. _Nothing. _And that's why I'm try—"

"What else are you keeping from me? What else is there, Logan?" Kendall asks, anger rising in his throat, his eyes burning.

Logan opens his mouth, hesitates before saying, "I don't know how to be normal, Kendall. I just don't know how. Even when I could hear, I wasn't like the other kids. I wasn't good at interacting with people. No one ever cared to know me, and I was too shy to know anyone else outside of family."

"But that doesn't mean now—"

"Yes, it does. Growing up, any kid who learned I couldn't hear either used it against me or ignored me. You know what I learned from that? Letting people know me is bad."

"But that's not what this is about, Lo—"

"Yeah, it is. Because if I were a normal guy with perfect hearing, we wouldn't be having this talk right now. Look at what's happening _right now_." Logan puts his hands in his pockets, glances around like he's trying to find something.

"I don't care that you can't hear," Kendall says, but Logan isn't paying attention. Kendall is a bit relieved Logan didn't catch that, because he hasn't really had a chance to think on it, his shock still leaving him dumb. Does he care? Does it bother him that Logan will never know the inflection of Kendall's voice when he says, _I love you_? Does it bother Kendall that Logan will never sing a duet with him or be able to comment on the tune of his guitar?

"Where are my car keys?" Logan mumbles.

Kendall finally steps to Logan and touches his shoulder. Logan pauses to look up. "You rode with me over here, remember?"

Logan sighs. "Now, I do."

"Logan, we wouldn't be having this talk at all right now if you hadn't kept things from me," Kendall says. "That's the issue here."

"I don't ever want to see you look at me like that ever again," is Logan's only reply. He swallows, closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I can't…I can't take it if you feel sorry for me."

"I do feel sorry for you, Logan, but not because you can't hear." And maybe Kendall's tone is a little bitter, but not that it matters anymore what his tone sounds like. Not when he's around Logan anyway.

Logan seems to pick up on it regardless.

"I'm taking the bus back to campus," he says, shrugging off Kendall's hand on his shoulder.

"Don't you think we need to talk about this?" Kendall asks, reaching for Logan again, already feeling regretful for letting his temper rise.

"What else is there to say?"

Kendall can think of a million things, things like the fact that Logan made Kendall fall in love with him, things like the fact Kendall's heart is breaking and he already misses Logan and he doesn't want Logan to go, doesn't ever want Logan to go. But he can't say any of it. It all catches on the tip of his tongue, because Kendall is trying to reconcile the two versions of Logan in his mind.

When Kendall doesn't say anything, Logan leaves, slamming the door behind him.

-L-

Logan feels like he's dissolving, like his limbs are made of sugar and the now steady rain falling with cause him to break apart. He's lost, unsure of where to go from here.

He's lost both literally and figuratively; after leaving Kendall, Logan hopped on the first bus he came across. So now he's aimlessly riding, waiting for something familiar to come into the window frame. He can't bring himself to be worried.

The buildings pass by slowly, water on the windows distorting and twisting them, so Logan closes his eyes, too tired to care about finding his whereabouts anymore.

Logan wanted to explain to Kendall, wanted to tell him how much he means, how much Logan does - did - trust him. But Kendall didn't even give him the chance, was so focused on omission he didn't stop to think of the reasons behind Logan's secret keeping.

And the anger and pity on Kendall's face...that had been unbearable.

_This is what happens when you fall in love, _Logan thinks, scoffing aloud. He's bitter and aching and confirming with himself how he was right all along. Kendall proved Logan right. People are only out for themselves. Kendall could only focus on what Logan did to _him._

Logan is rethinking everything now, his friendships with Camille, James and Carlos. Should he nip those in the bud? Stop himself from giving away anything more that could wind up backfiring?

Part of him wanted to beg for forgiveness, let loose the tears pressing behind his eyes and cling to Kendall, plead with the guy to keep loving him, let him explain, hear him out.

But that look on Kendall's face.

Logan knew Kendall would be mad, was almost sure of rejection, but what he hadn't anticipated was how it would rip him to pieces. Logan has constantly prided himself on the ability to be removed from what he perceived as weak emotions – love, trust – but he should've known the moment he started letting Kendall in he was bound for heartache. He did know, in a way, but he could no sooner stop himself from caring for Kendall than he could stop the ocean rolling into shore, pulling out with the tide.

It all comes down to this: Logan doesn't want to think letting someone know him is weak. He doesn't want to be alone anymore. He _wants _Kendall. Being logical, clinical, about human relationships has kept him safe since Logan was a child. It led him to music, to rhythm and vibration and he found love in it. It's been the only kind of love he's known. But what does he get back from it? He's been wrapped up in the sound, or lack thereof, of emotion translated without having ever felt much of any of it for himself. Everything he's ever written has been by formula, by golden ratio, creating something mathematics tells him should sound pleasing to the ear.

Until Kendall. When Logan wrote for Kendall, the notes flew, not from his brain overwrought with numbers, but from something much deeper. True, the synapses in his head fired off, telling him he was experiencing an emotion of fondness, of longing, but Logan wants to believe, needs to believe, there was something more to it.

Kendall makes Logan feel things – anger, love, lust – and he can't decide whether to hate him for it or wrap his arms around Kendall and refuse to let go.

Yes, Logan has been safe, but not sound. Kendall is sound and light and happy sixteenth notes and staccato grooves and the forgotten pitch of a flute. Logan can't help but feel there is something bigger working them both, pushing them together. Logan found music and it brought him to Kendall. Kendall should have been his years ago.

So why didn't Logan fight harder?

He's still afraid. There is more to tell yet, but Logan decides he's not going to give Kendall up so easily. Not until Kendall knows all there is to know. Not until Kendall tells him to fuck off. Logan is sure he's bound for more pain, but maybe that's part of it. Maybe Kendall is worth the risk.

_Fuck 'maybe', _Logan thinks, _I know he's worth it._

Because that kiss. _That kiss _caused something new to unfurl in Logan, something more important than fear or the chance of a broken heart. It was like belonging, like the comfort of a warm bed. The way his bottom lip slotted perfectly between Kendall's made it feel like their mouths were molded to press together, like they are the perfect complement to each other. It wasn't sloppy like Logan imagined a first kiss would be.

And maybe people are looking out for themselves. It doesn't mean they can't look out for each other, as well.

Logan still doesn't know where he is, but he pulls the cord requesting a stop. He'll just take a cab home, despite the cost, because he suddenly can't stand the bustle anymore, needing to be alone.

The part of town he finds himself in isn't bad; there are commercial buildings and lots of people milling about, despite it being a Saturday. He's just about to hail a cab when there's a tap on his shoulder.

-K-

"Whoa, buddy, you look like you've seen a ghost," James says.

It's late, but Kendall isn't sure of the time. He's just been sitting in the living room for hours, the last of the daylight leached from the room shortly after Logan left. He's reeling, thinking things over and resisting the urge to text Logan, beg him to come back.

Logan's proximity wouldn't help Kendall's thought process right now.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" James asks, the streetlight from the window offering the only contrast against the blackness. Kendall has these little yellow spots in his eyes from staring at the light outside, but he can't seem to look away.

James flips the light on, and Kendall resists the urge to hiss.

"No reason," Kendall says. He wants to spill everything to James, but Logan has guarded his secret so closely, Kendall feels like it would be a betrayal. _Not that I should care, _Kendall thinks, and immediately feels guilty for thinking it. Of course, he fucking cares. He can't not care.

James is quiet for several moments, staring at Kendall. "He told you, didn't he?" James says.

Kendall is finally able to rip his unfocused gaze from the light. "What?" he breathes.

"Logan. H-he told you?" James points to his ear, his expression shifting to panic as though he fears he's giving something away.

"You _knew_?" And now Kendall feels doubly betrayed, but how can he blame James when Kendall himself had planned on keeping the secret for Logan?

James holds his hands out in acquiescence. "Don't get mad, bro. I'm sorry, but it wasn't my secret to tell."

"But why would he tell you and not me?" Kendall feels like a stupid, idiotic child because he wants to stomp his foot and shout, scream at James for being Logan's confidant when Kendall has been right here all along. Maybe that's what it is; maybe Logan doesn't love Kendall because he has a thing for James. It wouldn't be the first time Kendall has played second fiddle to the pretty guy.

James knows Kendall all too well. "I know what you're thinking and you're wrong. I figured it out on my own."

"You figured it out?" Kendall asks, arching a brow and smirking. It feels strange on his face, the smirk, because he's spent the last several hours frowning.

"Hey, I can do smart stuff sometimes." Kendall continues staring at James with the same skeptical look. "Okay, maybe I practically caught him being all deaf and stuff."

"James, how do you catch someone being deaf? Isn't it something that Logan is, like, all the time?"

James goes into the whole story about the day he figured it out, trying to recall every word Logan said to him as Kendall needles him for details.

"So where is he now?" James asks.

"He left," Kendall replies, a hand going to his throat as he remembers Logan's fingers there, trying to feel out the sound of Kendall's voice.

"You guys didn't totally get it on after it was all out in the open?" James asks, plopping into the seat next to Kendall.

"No." Kendall draws the word out, long and low.

"Dude, what did you do?"

"Nothing, I—"

"You got all offended he waited so long to say anything about it, didn't you?" James interrupts.

"Well, I—"

"I was afraid you might be a dumbass. And now he's gone, probably thinking you hate him. That's great, Kendall," James huffs, throwing his hands in the air and letting them fall, slapping his legs.

"He _lied _to me, James," Kendall protests.

James turns in the bean bag to face Kendall fully. "No, he didn't. He just wanted to be one of the guys. Did you stop to think of how scary it was for him to even audition? Did you stop to think about how when he was growing up he probably got made fun of because kids are dicks?"

Kendall thinks he's been trying to imagine it, in between bouts of feeling wounded. At James' mention of horrible kids, Kendall remembers Logan's notes, the ones telling of how he was alone as a kid, how the others made fun of him. Kendall feels sick, selfish and sad.

"He wasn't lying to you, Kendall. He was trying to protect himself. And can you really blame him for that?"

Kendall shakes his head.

"This isn't you, man. You're not that asshole. I know you don't like being left out of things, and you're feeling all high and mighty about honesty right now, but _honestly _try to walk a mile in Logan's shoes. And then get that motherfucker back over here and make it right," James says.

"But what about trust, man?" Kendall asks, his emotions riding so high that his voice breaks.

"What about all those notes?" James throws an arm over Kendall's shoulder, and even though he's just called Kendall a dumbass and an asshole, they lean into each other. Kendall needs the comfort right now.

"You know about those too?"

"How did you think half of them got to you? Logan can't be here all the time," James replies.

"I just thought he was really sneaky." Kendall laughs, a low chortle without much humor. "But what about them?"

"Dude, I might've known that Logan is deaf, but I don't know shit else about him. I don't know his middle name—"

"—Henry."

"I don't know his favorite band of all time—"

"—Rush."

"I don't know if he had any pets or if he has siblings or if he believes in ghosts or what his parents do for a living—"

"—A goldfish named Pythagoras, no siblings, no ghost-believing, his dad is a doctor and his mother a realtor."

"Damn," James says, his face smooth and earnest, "sounds like Logan really _trusts _you. He's not the type of guy to just share stuff like that, obviously."

Kendall sighs, rubs his hands over his face. "When did you get so smart?"

"Maybe some of Logan's smart brains are rubbing off on me." James stands, offers a hand to help Kendall up also.

"I just need to think some more," Kendall says, accepting James' hand.

"What else is there to think about? You guys obviously lo—" James is cut off by his phone chiming. James pulls the cell from his pocket and reads the message.

"Holy shit," James breathes.

"What?"

James laughs and holds the screen out to Kendall, but he's shaking it around and Kendall can't quite comprehend the words. Then James is darting off into the bedroom and shouting for Carlos.

"James, he's at work still. What the hell is it?" Kendall shouts.

Running back into the room, James collides with Kendall, knocking him to the floor in his excitement. He fists his hands in Kendall's shirt collar and gets right in his face.

"Logan got us a fucking audition with George Hawk at Hawk Records!"

"What? Holy shit! For when?"

"Monday!"


	11. The Sound of Silence

**Author's note: ** So the last chapter was really that bad, huh? Ha. Nevermind, I'm still posting this today for those of you still enjoying things. There's probably just one chapter after this, maybe two if you count an epilogue. I'm so ready to be done! I pretty much wrote the whole story for what will be chapter 12. Thank you so much to those of you reading and reviewing. It means the world, and I love you. Chapter title shamelessly borrowed from Simon & Garfunkel.

-L-

Logan has never been so goddamn nervous in his life. Sure, he was nervous on Saturday when he handed Kendall that note, but this is a different kind of nervous, a bigger kind. This isn't just about him.

Hawk recognized Logan on the street, which was surreal all by itself. He'd apparently caught one of the band's shows at a club in passing, but hadn't had the time to pursue them yet. He gave Logan a ride back to UCLA in his limo and set up an audition. The guy was weird, Logan thought, but he seemed really fucking interested.

Logan told Carlos about his impairment; needless to say, it wasn't an issue for the happy guy at all. He'd only said something like, _Mozart was deaf. _Logan quickly corrected him, stating it was Beethoven. Carlos only replied, _Yeah, him too. _Too bad Kendall hadn't been so easy.

So the guys are trying to squeeze in some practice before the two o'clock appointment time, and Kendall keeps giving him these sidelong glances that are not helping. At all.

Logan already decided to force the blond into a nice, long talk after the audition, but only then. It seems Kendall has different plans. Logan is already jumpy with nerves, not only over the upcoming audition and the whole situation with Kendall, but from skipping classes as well. Logan has _never _skipped a class, ever.

The guys are so used to having to leave extra time to pack up their equipment that they have a half hour to kill before heading out. Logan suggests they practice more. Kendall suggests they all try to chill the fuck out, but Logan sees the way Kendall is looking at him, practically begging with his eyes to talk about things now.

It's a horrible idea.

Carlos and James do that thing where they conveniently disappear, and Logan ponders just hiding in the corner.

"About Saturday," Kendall starts.

"Can't it wait, Kendall? I'm really nervous, and I just don't think now is the time to—"

"Wouldn't we do better having worked things out?" Kendall says, moving in closer to Logan where he still sits at his drum set.

"I think it's going to take longer than thirty minutes to work things out," Logan says, his expression the farthest thing from friendly. He can't do this right now; he's already itching to bolt from the room. There's a time and a place for everything, and now is not the time or place. Not when he's wound tighter than a drum.

"I only want to explain more _why _I got upset—"

"Not everything is on your time, Kendall," Logan interrupts.

"Wow, okay," Kendall says, backing away with hands in the air. "Later then."

"Wait, Kendall, god, I'm sorry," Logan starts.

Kendall turns, walking backwards to the door. "No, I'm leaving. Not everything's on your time either."

Once the door is shut and Logan is on his own, he feels like screaming; instead a quiet groan escapes his parted lips. He begins pounding out his frustrations on the bass drum, slamming his foot onto the pedal with unnecessary force. Toes gripping at the sole of his shoe, Logan works the drum until it matches the furious bang of his heart. He twirls the drumsticks between his fingers, watches the tip go around and around, begging himself to calm down. His raging thoughts become the steady thrum of the snare, his torrential emotions the toms. He slams the stick on the cymbal, the forceful clang interrupting the staccato _bam bam bam _like the way Kendall has thrown Logan's whole world into chaos.

And he starts beating the drums without rhyme or reason, without any thought other than making himself a drum roll, wearing himself out to where the only thing he feels is focused.

It doesn't work though. Even when Logan's arms burn and beg with him to stop, the idea of the curve to Kendall's smile still adds a melody, a tune echoing in Logan's head no matter how hard he plays.

-L-

All Logan can see is Kendall, his fingers playing the strings, looking so completely at ease Logan is almost jealous.

They've been asked to play three original songs, and they're halfway through the second. The first went perfectly as far as Logan could tell, the smile on Kendall's face being the biggest giveaway.

Logan could play in his sleep, upside down and blindfolded, but he's watching Kendall, fucking falling for him a million times and all over again. And the idea that Kendall might hate him now wraps around him like a vice, and it's like he physically feels it from the bottoms of his feet to the top of his head, the normally pleasant tug in his chest turning into a noose.

He falters, nearly drops a drumstick and loses the rhythm for several beats.

Kendall's eyes immediately snap to Logan, and he's panicking, unable – for the first time since he was a kid – to find the sound again.

Hawk stops them.

"Is your drummer deaf or something?" Hawk says to James, but Logan can clearly see it, could see those same words on anybody's lips miles away. It's one of the few phrases Logan is sure he could even decipher by touch. It punches him in the gut like the words were a fist.

"What the _fuck _is that supposed to mean?" Kendall says, removing the guitar and nearly throwing it down, approaching Hawk as though he might punch him.

"What? He's either stupid or deaf," Hawk says, waving a hand in the air condescendingly. Logan finds it in himself to stand and approach the asshole, but not with the same aggression as Kendall.

"Listen here, you dumb fu—"

"Kendall," Logan warns, stepping between Kendall's balled up fist and Hawk. "I can take care of myself."

"So?" Hawk prods.

"Yes, I'm deaf."

Hawk laughs like Logan just told the funniest joke he's ever heard, clapping his hands. Logan's face remains stoic, calm, strong.

"Hey, asshole, why are you laughing like a motherfucking chimpanzee?" Kendall seethes. Logan gives him a long glance, never having seen the other guy so riled up, and it makes Logan angry in turn. He doesn't need Kendall stepping in to take care of him, scare off the schoolyard bully. Logan learned a long time ago to take care of himself because the only constant in this world is himself.

"Be quiet and calm down," Logan whispers to Kendall.

"Calm down? Logan this guy—"

"I've dealt with this kind of thing my whole life. It's fine," Logan interrupts.

"Fine?" Kendall shoulders up to Logan, trying to get closer to Hawk. Logan turns to Kendall in full, hands to Kendall's chest, using his body as a divider between the record producer and Kendall. It doesn't stop him from jabbing a finger in Hawk's direction and shouting, "Listen here, you arrogant prick, Logan is goddamn fantastic, and you don't need to go around saying shit like that when it could be true."

The producer literally has tears in his eyes, he's chortling so hard. "So he really can't hear? That's priceless. In this busine—"

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Hawk, but I think we're going to leave now," James says, coming between the scuffle and offering his hand. Hawk stares at it and Kendall stares at James like he's sprouted a third head.

"Fine, whatever, let's go guys," James drawls when it becomes clear Hawk is not going to shake his hand. Logan turns Kendall over to James and Carlos, making his way out of the building without looking back.

How could Kendall act like that? Not like Logan isn't already feeling like shit for fucking everything up, but Kendall had to go all mama bear and make a scene. Logan doesn't want to draw more attention to himself. He doesn't need Kendall's pity or protection. Who the hell does he think he is? Logan knows there's no use wasting his time on being offended by every little rude thing said to him, and he wants Kendall to feel the same way.

He's walking down the street, back in the same position of a few days ago, trying to hail a cab or catch a bus when he feels a tap on his shoulder. This time, he doesn't have to turn around to know who it is, so he doesn't.

"Leave me alone right now, Kendall," Logan says between clenched teeth, hands in his pockets to stay calm.

Logan guesses Kendall is trying to speak with him, but Logan is really fucking good at giving the silent treatment. From the corner of his eye, Logan sees Kendall's arms waving, trying to gain his attention. So Logan continues on up the street, eventually coming to a marked bus stop, sitting on the bench and acting unbothered by the flailing blond in his wake. After several moments of Kendall standing over him and – what Logan assumes – babbling, a sufficient scene being created, he looks up at Kendall.

And he's just standing there staring at Logan, furrowed brow and concerned eyes screaming concern. Logan's ill-temper melts a little.

"What, Kendall?" Logan slumps against the bench, takes a moment to move his eyes to the sky, missing the clear blue of the sky back home, missing simple things when his biggest concern was memorizing a new drum solo. Kendall waits patiently for Logan's attention to return.

"Why would you let that guy treat you like that?" Kendall asks.

"It's not the first time, probably not the last."

"But people shouldn't be allowed to just—"

"I don't need you to take care of me," Logan snaps, the temporary hampering of his anger burning away. "You don't have to feel sorry for me. I've taken care of myself just fine since—"

"Logan," Kendall says, "don't you understand you don't have to it on your own anymore? I feel sorry that—"

"That what? That you've wasted your time on me? And now you can't say so because, 'Oh, look at the poor, pitiful deaf guy. He can't hear so let's treat him differently. Let's not upset the injured one.'"

"Sounds like you don't need anyone else throwing you a pity party," Kendall replies. Logan thinks he's probably right, but the revelation doesn't help Logan's temperament.

"I just don't want to waste any more time," Logan says. The statement is more than Kendall can comprehend at the moment, because he's still in the dark about a few things. Logan doesn't want to waste any more time without Kendall, but the way Kendall perceives it, Logan means he doesn't want to waste any more time _on _Kendall.

Kendall is visibly deflated, the flashing emotion in his eyes fading to a tiredness Logan is immediately sorry for. But he's on an offensive roll and is heart is aching and tender around the edges, everything about him rubbed raw.

"Won't you just come back so we can talk about this? Really talk about this? I can't stand to see you hurting," Kendall says, plopping onto the bench, reaching out to place a hand on Logan's thigh and stopping, that wall Logan has been trying like hell to retract still firmly in place.

"Please, Logan, I didn't mean to cause a scene."

"You know what?" Logan asks, and he begins to sign without waiting on an answer, his hands moving smart and fast.

_I will never be good enough for you, Kendall. I'm flawed and broken and emotionally stupid, but I love you. I love you. I love you. I don't know when I let that happen. Actually, I never _let _it. You make me scared all the time, but I never knew the thrill of it. I want to tell you that you make me regret my whole life. I want to tell you that you make me regret none of it._

"Logan, I don't know what you're saying," Kendall says, but his gaze doesn't waver from Logan's, and Logan is sure Kendall can see the stupid, traitorous tears forming there. Logan hasn't cried over _anything, _over anyone since he was a confused child, and the thought alone brings more moisture to his eyes. He doesn't stop signing though, because he's letting it out, even if no one is around to understand.

_I'd forgotten about being a normal guy. I'd forgotten what it felt like to care about someone, really care about someone. I don't know that I ever have and it hurts and feels great and makes me want to shout because it's so much or maybe sit with you in the quiet and just be. I want to know you as much as you wanted to know me. We've lost a decade of time and I don't want to waste time anymore. Because the only thing that scares me more than loving you is the thought of going on without you, but I have to stop being afraid._

"Logan…" Kendall says, his lips barely a tremor.

_And now I'm holding you guys back and I'm fucking sorry for that; I want you to have what you want. And I can't even really blame you anymore for pitying me, not when I pity myself just as much. _Logan stops to furiously wipe at his eyes. _I'm sorry I kept things from you. _

"I'm sorry I'm still keeping things from you," Logan says aloud.

"What? What else is there?" Kendall asks.

Logan finds the wrinkled paper in his pocket, the clear tape in jagged pieces holding the parts together. He'd resolved to fight for Kendall, and this is all the fight he has left. "Here," Logan says, "these are really hard to say, but I need you to know."

"Logan, what are you—"

"I quit, Kendall," Logan says, walking away before Kendall can reply.

-K-

"He quit," Kendall says when he makes his way back to James and Carlos.

"What?" James shrieks. "We have our biggest gig ever in two weeks! What are we going to do? Kendall, you can—"

"I'm not letting him quit, James. I'm going to figure this out," Kendall replies.

"Did you hurt Logan's feelings, Kendall?" Carlos asks.

"Yeah, Carlos, I really fucked up," Kendall replies, the words burning his throat and nose like a shot of hard liquor. There's no soothing, fuzzy balm afterwards though, just an aching sense of foreboding and loss.

Kendall makes James stop so he can buy earplugs on the way home. He wants to understand Logan. He's told Logan time and time again he wants to know him, and Kendall thinks this might be a step in the right direction.

When they get home, he shrugs off James' and Carlos's attempts to talk to him, ask him what happened. The final notes from Logan rest over his heart, and he can swear he hears the paper rustle with each nervous thud in his chest. Kendall stops in the bedroom to get his headphones, the big ones that cover his ears in full. He's walking to the pantry and shoving the earplugs in, immediately becoming aware of his heavy breathing, the clicking of his teeth.

Once he's inside and alone, he pushes stools and amps in front of the door so no one can interrupt him.

He puts the headphones over his ears and is plunged into complete silence.

Kendall says a few words out loud, never having been so keen to the vibration of his own throat, but no sound meets his ears. He goes to the old stereo stationed in the corner, turns it on and moves the dial to the highest volume.

Nothing. He hears nothing.

He sits at the drums, hesitantly picks up the sticks, tries to zone in on the heavy bass he can just barely feel in his feet. It's impossible for him. He starts to hit the drums, the cymbal, work the pedal and the strikes move through his arms and the sound makes only the smallest ripple for him, no matter how he concentrates.

All the while, he's thinking of Logan, a scared little boy experiencing this not by choice. Kendall can almost see him in his mind's eye, awe on his face when he discovers music isn't lost to him, he only has to work a lot harder for it. He thinks on it more; Logan with hearing aids and glasses and a resolute look on his face as he ignores the children mocking him. Kendall wants to punch the phantom children in the face. It's agony, being unable to erase that hurt.

What Logan doesn't understand is that Kendall doesn't pity him, not in the way Logan thinks. Kendall loves him. He can say it now without a tremor in his voice, without any doubt or trepidation. And when there's love, there's pain too, because when Logan is happy, Kendall is over the motherfucking moon. When Logan is hurt – when he was hurt today – Kendall feels it, wants to fight it back with the anger of his fists and the fury of his words. So, yes, Kendall does feel sorry. He's sorry Logan doesn't hear what he hears, doesn't get to experience a new song for the first time in full, hear the lilting chorus by violin or know what it feels like when simple noises – a clanging fork or windchimes – make something mundane beautiful.

He stops trying to play, puts down the sticks. Reaching into the pocket, the one over his heart, he pulls out the notes. When he unfolds the paper, he realizes it's one sheet. It looks like it had been cut apart, but the pieces have been meticulously taped back together.

Kendall starts at the top.

_I had three surgeries and none of them helped._

_I wish I didn't miss being able to hear, and sometimes I convince myself I don't._

_I've never had a best friend._

_I've forgotten the sound of my mother's voice._

_The headaches were terrible in the beginning, but I never cried._

_I barely said anything for three years after the accident, except to myself. No one else was listening._

Kendall reads on and on, and by the time he's reached the bottom on the back of the page, he's sobbing without even realizing it, his face wet as the flavor of salt invades his mouth.

_My father had accepted a job in Shakopee, Minnesota, _the paper says, and Kendall feels a shadow looming, something like a cold-fated grip cutting off his the senses he hasn't blacked out on his own.

_I was eight years old, _the paper says, _and my parents didn't want to uproot me after the accident._

Kendall stops reading a moment to wipe his eyes, take a shuddering gasp. He might be moaning or whispering the word _no _or screaming for all Kendall can tell.

He reads on.

_I was that little boy, Kendall, _the paper – Logan – says. _I was supposed to be yours._

Kendall rips the headphones from his ears, pulls the plugs from his canals, the sound of his own broken cries and the stereo filling his ears, the volume overwhelming. There's more to read, a sentence or two, and Kendall doesn't know if he can.

But he does.

_I still want to be yours, _Logan says.

The notes surrounding the words stop all together, and Logan's final words are written in tiny, frightened letters in the bottom right-hand corner. Kendall touches them, presses the pads of his finger against the delicately penned declaration.

_I love you, _Logan says.

And thoughts like memories swirl through Kendall's head, the movies they saw together they never really did, their small hands twined through boyish playtimes that never really were, the feeling budding to friendship and a full-fledged love story blossoming that never got planted. Kendall can picture it all, bright as sunshine, clear as a bell. Logan would've heard Kendall's laugh and returned it. It's what should have been and never, ever was.

Kendall is angry. Not at Logan. He's not sure who to be mad at. He hates himself for not being there for Logan, being the protector he so desperately needed.

But then Logan wouldn't be the strong-willed, hard-headed, drum-pounding, fucking amazing person Kendall fell in love with.

This was what Logan was afraid to tell him more than anything?

Kendall understands, and the anger evaporates. Logan thinks this is his fault. That Kendall's half of a broken heart was something the brunet could've possibly prevented.

In this moment, Kendall knows he has to stop fucking up when it comes to Logan. If anything were ever a fated thing, it's that Logan was meant for Kendall, and Kendall for Logan. How else would they have found each other now?

He has to make this right. He'd be doing the universe a disservice if he didn't. Kendall sure as hell isn't going to let any more moments pass in which he's supposed to be with Logan.

And, god, his whole body aches with the realization of it all, but he can't think of himself right now. He has work to do.

Kendall wipes the sweat and tears from his face, takes several deep breaths in and out.

There's a knock on the door. "If you're thinking about being our new drummer, you can forget it. You sound like shit," James shouts above the music still pounding.

Kendall runs to the door, moves the various objects he'd stacked in front of it.

"Do you have Camille's number?" Kendall nearly shouts.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"Do you have Logan's friend Camille's number?" Kendall asks again.

"Well, yeah, I do, but what—"

Kendall doesn't wait for James to finish, and he's searching the pretty guy's pockets.

"Kendall, we don't have _that _kind of friendship," James jokes.

Ignoring James and finding what he's looking for, Kendall unlocks the phone and is dialing before James can protest.

"Camille?

"Yeah, this is Kendall…

"I know… I'm awful, I know…

"I want to make it up to him…

"_Please, _I need your help with something."

As he speaks to Camille, Kendall wanders into the bedroom, retrieves every last note Logan ever wrote him and begins putting together the puzzle.


	12. Music and Lyrics

**Author's note: **Sigh. Just the epilogue after this, my lovely friend readers. I hope you'll tell me how you feel about this chapter. There's mature stuff in this one, just a forewarning. Thanks for all the amazing reviews, alerts and faves. I love you all bunches. Happy Holidays.

* * *

Logan tries to write in three-quarters time, half time, but no matter how he composes the notes don't make sense anymore and move slow as a river of glue. He's stuck, stalled, and he can't seem to work past the block.

He recalls the way Kendall throws his head back when he laughs, the movement of his throat, and Logan breaks the lead of his pencil. He thinks of the way Kendall would silently stare at him, gazes long and full of want, and Logan rips up another page of sheet music. He remembers Kendall's touches, tentative, like posing a question, and Logan wonders if he'll ever find his own rhythm again.

All of it is excruciating.

James and Carlos send Logan messages begging him to come back, which he ignores. He accepts comfort from Camille, doesn't have the will not to anymore. Logan has always thought time makes things easier, the march of seconds, minutes and days lessens a broken heart. It might be true, but how can Logan repair this hurt when time has halted all together?

He gets no word from Kendall.

And Logan knows Kendall must be furious, coming undone and fraying at the edges now that the whole secret of Logan has been unraveled. Logan had been Kendall's intended, the best friend he'd envisioned as perfect, the night to his day, his compliment in every way and shape and form. Logan can only imagine the disappointment Kendall feels upon knowing the whole truth.

Logan doesn't want to be a fucking disappointment. He wants to be everything Kendall needs. He will never be everything Kendall needs.

"Come to the show," Camille begs. "Just, please, come to the show." _I need you to help me not fuck James, _she signs.

"Wow," Logan replies. "Imagining your girl bits doesn't help me, Cam."

"Nothing is helping you, Logie love," she says, the frown she's been trying to keep away for Logan's benefit firmly on her face. She reaches out to smooth fingers through his hair, pat his cheek, push some comfort into Logan by will.

"I'm fine," he lies.

"Come to the show," Camille says for the hundredth, thousandth, _millionth _time.

"He doesn't want to see me," Logan replies, shaking his head as his fingers trace the sheet of composition paper filled with meaningless notes. He can feel the frustration in the indentations his pencil left.

What was supposed to be their biggest gig ever is happening tonight. Somehow, James had gotten them a slot opening for a ridiculously popular band at a local L.A. nightclub. It's not just any nightclub either; it's one of those where record producers hang out with perked ears and keen eyes.

"How do you know that?" Camille shoulders up to Logan, presses against him until he scoots enough to share the desk chair in his room.

"It's been two weeks," is all Logan offers in reply.

_He's dealing with things, too, _Camille signs. _It doesn't mean he doesn't care._

_I don't want to see someone in my place. Ever. _Logan's hands drop to his lap. Camille knows the full meaning behind Logan's statement without pushing for anything further.

_Tell him that, _Camille answers.

Logan only shakes his head and whispers, "I love him too much."

Camille grabs Logan's face, forces him to meet her eyes. "You're enough, Logan. Kendall knows that. Why don't you?" He tries to move from her grasp, shake his head again, but Camille won't let him. Instead, she plants a kiss on his forehead.

"I can't—"

"You're coming with me to the show," she says.

Logan sighs.

-K/L-

Kendall has barely slept for days, weeks. He's been thinking and writing and strumming his guitar until his fingers crack and bleed out chords and lyrics. He's been learning new things and realizing his hands will never be as smart as Logan's.

He's just glad sign language doesn't give away a trembling voice, but if it did, Kendall is sure his hands would stutter.

It's moments before they are to go on, and Kendall is nervously pacing backstage, touching the wireless mic by his mouth every few seconds. James is pacing right next to Kendall while Carlos remains curiously stoic.

"You're sure this will make everything okay?" James asks, stopping Kendall's movement with a firm grip to the shoulders.

"No," Kendall snorts.

"But it might—"

"Do you really want to be famous without Logan anyway?" Kendall asks.

James sighs, opens his mouth and closes it again. He gives Kendall a long look, regards the laces of his right shoe and hitches up his pant leg to make sure he isn't wearing socks. Finally, he replies, "No, not really."

Kendall only pulls James into a hug, fisting the other guy's shirt in his hands, whispering his thanks.

"You're not the only one who loves the guy," James says. "You would've had to share him with us eventually." He winks and squeezes Kendall to his side, Kendall jumping when a voice comes on announcing it's time to take the stage.

Walking to center stage on wooden legs, Kendall shakes his hands, willing them to stop trembling. He's never been one for stage fright, and it's not stage fright causing his reaction now. Kendall looks to James as he straps on Kendall's guitar, giving him an encouraging – albeit nervous – smile. His gaze shifts to Carlos who appears calm and unsmiling, the serious mood affecting them all.

It's only after he sees his best friends ready to go he begins to scan the crowd.

Kendall finds Logan easily, despite the bright lights, despite the packed club. His wide brown eyes latch onto Kendall's like an anchor. James said Logan would be here, but Kendall hadn't quite believed it until this moment. He's right where Kendall wants him, so close to the stage he could put his hands on the large amplifiers if he wanted to.

Kendall really hopes Logan will want to.

The crowd is murmuring, so Kendall takes a deep breath, the sound of it echoing through the microphone.

"So those of you who might've heard us before know that I'm not the usual lead singer. I'm still not, but this is a special occasion, and I hope you'll indulge me for one song." Kendall pauses to laugh – nervous, jumpy, hopeful – before continuing, "This song is special. I wrote the lyrics, but the music was written by our drummer Logan, although he's never heard the song." Kendall looks at his feet, the shock that crosses Logan's face causing a knot to form in Kendall's throat. "I, uh, I'd like to think he wrote the music for me as I wrote the lyrics for him." He finds Logan in the crowd again, forgets there are other people around, the sound of everything other than the electric hum in the air fading to mirage.

_Logan, sometimes I'm dumb, _Kendall signs. _Sometimes, I don't say the right thing. Sometimes, I forget life is hard. Most of the time, I don't want to remember how hard it can be. _He takes a breath, his throat and eyes burning. _If you're scared, let me be the one who helps you. Let me take care of you. I don't want to waste another minute because of fear or ignorance or stupidity. _

The music starts at Kendall's nod, the bass turned up high, the sound deep and rumbling. Kendall begins to move his hands to the music, his voice ringing true with the lyrics he penned with Logan in mind.

_I used to have these dreams, wake up in the night_

_I didn't understand what they might mean_

_But I would smile like a fool_

_It wasn't until just the other day_

_I realized they were about you_

_Yeah, now I know your favorite color is green_

_You're not afraid of ghosts_

_You hate to do the dishes_

_Yeah, now I know you think ironing is neat_

_But I want to know more, more about you_

Kendall's voice is shaking, but it doesn't matter, because somehow, his hands are steady.

As Kendall goes into the first chorus, Logan rips his gaze from Kendall's to stare at Camille.

"You helped him with this, didn't you?" Logan mouths. Camille only smiles and Logan has lost his breath, his mind. Because Kendall's gorgeous hands are telling Logan words, lyrics. Logan leans into the speaker, feels the vibrations of the bass, the electric guitar, and he knows the sound. He wrote it months ago when he penned all those notes for Kendall. This is the song they made together without even realizing it.

It's the most beautiful thing Logan has ever heard, and he catches every lyric as though his heart were a net and Kendall's hands flitted like the wings of a monarch.

_And I don't need a thousand people screaming my name_

_To remember who I am_

_All I need is you, all I need is you_

_And I don't need a thousand people to love me_

_To know that I am loved_

_As long as you do, as long as you do_

Before Logan can let himself be afraid, he jumps on the stage, walks by Kendall who doesn't falter even though Logan runs fingers across his hip, resists the urge to press together mouths and taste the music from Kendall's lips.

Logan reaches his drum kit just in time for the bridge, and Kendall has his back to the audience and he's standing right in front of Logan, Kendall looking at the brunet like he were the nicest thing he's ever seen, a sky fading blue, purple, black.

Retrieving his drums sticks, Logan eases into playing, soft taps and tentative cymbals. This is a ballad. Logan doesn't think he's ever really played one, didn't even know he was capable of writing one, but then there are a lot of things Logan never thought himself capable.

Before Kendall.

_And I'd walk with you through the quiet_

_I'd take your hand in mine_

_I'd unsing every song I've sung_

_I'd unhear every note I've heard_

_Just to be where you are_

_And even if fate hadn't intervened_

_I'd have searched forever_

_Because where's my heart without a beat?_

_Yeah, we've lost some time among other things_

_But I'd happily drown in the sound of you_

And these goddamn sticks have been extensions of Logan's hands since he was eleven years old, the beats and strikes and rattles his only loves. There was a time Logan thought all he needed were grooves and drum rolls and kick ass solos, but he'd fucking throw it all away if Kendall would make him feel this way forever. Like's he worth it. Like he's good enough.

When Kendall goes into the final chorus, Logan stops playing all together, because Logan needs to memorize every bit of Kendall, soak in the expression on his face, the intensity in the sway of his hands.

_Your accompaniment is the only one I need. _

Kendall did this for Logan because he's enough. He's enough, and maybe Kendall still loves him. The song ends and Kendall responds to Logan's unspoken thought, shutting down Logan's doubts with a heady sense of finality.

_It's cheesy and true, _Kendall signs without speaking._ I love you, I love you, I love you._

And just like that, Logan is back in.

-K/L-

Logan can just feel it's their best show ever, and even though Kendall has these black circles under his eyes, he's looking more jubilant than Logan can remember. Kendall plays off James and Carlos and Logan and the crowd, and the people love him, reach out to him with awe on their faces.

Not that Logan can blame them.

And Logan isn't denying the shock of lust coiling in his stomach, this need that has been building for months, simmering for years. Now, Logan doesn't feel ridiculous or hopeless for wanting Kendall in any way, because Kendall feels the same, mirroring Logan's want glance after glance.

Yes, it's their best show ever, but Logan thinks it also must be the longest.

Before the final reverbs have finished, before Logan's cymbal has stopped ringing, he's throwing down the drumsticks without care of where they land. He's walking backstage, and he knows Kendall is right behind him, can practically feel the heat and want and love and need vibrating in the air like the pluck of a bass string.

As soon as they're out of sight from the crowd, Logan is turning around and Kendall's arms are pulling him close. Then Kendall's hands are on Logan's cheeks and he's whispering _I'm sorry _over and over and Logan is shaking his head and kissing Kendall's lips to shut him up.

Kendall pushes Logan against the nearest wall, moaning when he can't help but press his hips firmly against Kendall's. Then Kendall is laughing against Logan's mouth, pressing back and biting Logan's bottom lip, licking into his mouth before finally breaking away after swallowing another long moan.

"Shh," Kendall hisses, leaning in when he can't stand the separation, stealing a quick kiss. "We're still in public." And he's smiling and kissing Logan again and again, like he's trying to make up for all the kisses he's missed over the months and years. There are quick and gentle pecks, long and meaningful and closed mouth presses, open mouths and searching tongues and nipping teeth. It's longing and the realization of that longing; it's winter and spring and summer and autumn and snowflakes and sunshine. It's bass and treble and Logan thinks he might scream if he can't get Kendall alone in the next ten seconds. It's everything they missed, but it's okay, because they're making up for it with teeth and lips, hands and hips.

"Whoa, okay, guys?" James says, approaching the couple completely wrapped up in each other. "We need to pack up—"

"We got this," Carlos interrupts. "And James and I are staying here for the next band, so we won't be home for awhile…"

Kendall looks to Logan with wide eyes, asking a question with raised eyebrows. Logan lets go of Kendall to sign a few words.

"What does that mean?" Kendall asks, repeating the gestures with his hands.

"It means, _Take me home,_" Logan replies.

Kendall knows Logan doesn't mean UCLA.

-K/L-

Logan has never felt this way, anxious and needy yet calm and sure all in the same moment. Kendall woke something up inside him, and it's like his body is making its own new kind of music, his heart, his breath, the hum of blood rushing through his veins.

Kendall would say they stagger inside, but Logan is sure of every footfall, a desperate glance every three steps, a passionate kiss every two.

Exertion and sweat still cling to their skin, and when Kendall begins pulling Logan's shirt over his head, Logan stops him.

"What is it?" Kendall asks, bringing Logan's hand to his mouth, pressing lips to fingertips and wrists.

"I need a shower," Logan mumbles, embarrassed. "But I don't want to be away from you."

"I don't mind a little sweat," Kendall replies, proving his point by leaning into Logan, running his tongue across the column of Logan's throat, the vibration of Logan's moan pulsating through Kendall's lips. He straightens again, hands finding their way under the front of Logan's shirt, ghosting across his stomach like Kendall has to have some sort of physical contact. "Or I could shower with you."

Logan quirks a brow, his cheeks heating up, not from embarrassment, but from the idea of Kendall warm and wet and naked.

Kendall misjudges his reaction entirely. "Or we can wait on all of this, Logan. I don't want to rush you."

Logan laughs, kisses Kendall's nose, cheeks and chin before lingering on his lips. "I've been waiting for you ten years. This isn't rushing." His face falls and he looks away from Kendall. "I'm sorry I kept things from you. I-"

Kendall cuts the brunet off by bending his knees, making himself on eye level with Logan. "You had your reasons. And I think I remember telling you to start small."

Logan laughs softly, loses himself in the earnest green of Kendall's eyes.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Kendall asks.

"Just..." _I love you, _Logan finishes with a sign, his thumb, index and pinky fingers signing the short version, pressing to Kendall's chest just over his heart.

Kendall's only answer is to kiss Logan again, soundly.

"Let's get cleaned up," Kendall says, leading Logan to the bathroom.

And Kendall's eyes stay locked on Logan's, even after they've stripped each other bare and Logan is shy with arms crossed over his chest. Kendall only kisses away any trepidations Logan might have, murmurs and hums against Logan's throat about how amazing he is, how great he looks, how much Kendall wants him.

When they step under the warm shower spray, Logan's fingers follow the trails of water streaming down Kendall's chest, absorbing the pounding of Kendall's heart – a sound he's always been aware of but never felt quite so profoundly as now.

"Your heart's beating so fast," Logan says, moving in to wrap his arms around Kendall's middle, matching his nakedness against Kendall's, not hearing whatever Kendall's response might be.

It doesn't matter if Logan isn't reading his lips. Kendall says it anyway, mouths the words in Logan's hair, stamps the words _I Love You _on every inch of skin he meets, fingers forming the words against Logan's back, his thighs and everywhere in between.

With their chests so closely pressed, it's impossible to decipher whose rhythm is whose and it simply becomes a _thrum_humming that overwhelms them both. Logan is leaning up and finding Kendall's lips and kissing him desperately, Kendall's hands in Logan's hair and returning the kiss with equal fervor.

"I want you," Logan says – chants – over and over, so Kendall's hands move to Logan's waist, pulling the smaller man against him even closer as they discover the joy of intimate flesh on flesh, fingers grasping and hips writhing.

The heat is incredible, rolling steam and flushed cheeks. Kendall's palms rove to Logan's backside, a single digit slipping between Logan's rounded flesh, pressing gently against his opening. Logan jumps, shudders, gasps into Kendall's mouth.

"Is this okay?" Kendall asks, pushing the tip of his finger into Logan's body.

Logan nods and mumbles out a positive reply, taking a deep breath and leaning against the shower wall, relaxing his muscles as Kendall presses in farther. And then Kendall is playing Logan's body like the strings of his guitar, finding just the right amount of pressure and intensity and tempo until Logan is begging for more, panting out the euphoria of it.

When Kendall adds a second finger along with the first, Logan blurts, "Take me to bed. _Please._"

So Kendall does, quick hands shutting off the water. They don't bother to towel off and they leave puddles in the bathroom floor, droplets along the way to Kendall's room like a trail of bread crumbs should they need to find their way back. It's hardly necessary.

They begin adagio, slow and cautious and quiet, Kendall's fingers finding their way back to Logan until he swears he can see sound, passion like waves in his vision. Before long, they are allegro, uninhibited and fast, breathless words and impatient hips. It feels like eons and no time at all when Kendall lines his stiffness to Logan's hole and presses in, Logan keenly aware of the heaving of Kendall's chest as he slowly fills the tight space.

Logan can't quite read Kendall's lips in the low light, so his hands find their way to Kendall's mouth and throat.

"Logan," Kendall moans, his hips flush against Logan's ass, burning with the need to move.

"Say it again," Logan says, trembling fingertips exploring the feel of his name on Kendall's lips, the vibration of it in his throat.

"Logan," Kendall repeats.

"Move," Logan demands, thrusting upwards as Kendall's cock brushes against that spot inside him.

So Kendall does, pulling back and pressing in, Logan begging time and time again for Kendall to say his name, say _I love you _so that the words can be ingrained in his hands as fingerprints_. _Then they are a duet, a nocturne, something canon as their hips speed and slow, speed and slow.

Logan is moaning and groaning as loud as a bass drum, but Kendall doesn't care to stop him, doesn't want to stop him. Each pleasured sound spurs him forward, and he's matching the other man moan for moan, Logan's fingers learning what making love sounds like as the rest of him learns what it is to feel it.

Eventually, Logan pulls Kendall down to him, squeezes Kendall's torso so close nothing could come between them now. The tips of his fingers dig into Kendall's back, the heels of his feet urging Kendall's thighs.

And it's so much that they are both lost in it, the intensity swelling like a crescendo until Logan is saying _Please _over and over, so Kendall reaches between them and pumps Logan's cock, swivels his hips until Logan breathing speeds from quarters, to eighths, to sixteenths. Then he is coming, hot and hard, Kendall's name tumbling from his mouth.

Kendall comes undone seconds later, hips stuttering and pushing as he wonders how he got so goddamn lucky. Because Logan is here and they're in love and he's not going anywhere.

Logan doesn't give Kendall the time to catch his breath before they are kissing again, but Kendall can't mind.

Not when there is much to make up for.

They finally break apart, Kendall still hovering over Logan as he traces the contours of Kendall's face, smooths his sweaty hair from his brow.

Kendall tells Logan how he is like the droning bassline Kendall can't get out of his head, the tap of a pen against a countertop, the crash of waves on a rocky beach. Kendall tells Logan that every song he writes from now on will probably be about him as he presses his cheek to Logan's chest, a sudden weariness begging him to rest now that he is content.

"Hey, Ken," Logan says, fingers carding through Kendall's hair, soothing him to sleep.

"Hmm?" Kendall hums.

"Try not to snore, okay? I need my beauty sleep," Logan replies, the smile clear in his voice.

Kendall snorts, presses his lips against Logan's bare chest. "I'll try," he replies, unworried that his answer isn't heard.


	13. Epilogue

**Author's Note: **So here's the end. I'm toying around with the idea of adding another chapter on this with a "what could have been" type thing, not necessarily a future fic as much as an alternate ending, but I'm still back and forth on it. Ha.

I just want to say thank you a zillion times for those of you who have been so kind throughout this whole thing. You have no idea how much it means to get reviews, alerts and faves on this thing when I'd been so unsure of writing it in the beginning. I would love to hear what you're thinking now that it's done.

-K/L-

There's this tiny catch in Logan's breathing, always, each time he sees Kendall. It never fails to stutter the near constant rhythm in his chest before his heart begins to boom so loud, even Logan's deafness can't hamper the sound. Just when he thinks he's over it, Kendall proves him wrong. Every time.

Logan doesn't mind.

There was this Swedish house track Logan hadn't even realized had any words until he accidentally stumbled upon them one day. He knew right away, they had to make it theirs, add verses and a bridge.

Because music does sound better with Kendall - the fuzzy memory of a happy tune swelling with each second that passes in which Logan knows Kendall's smile, the depth of his dimples. It doesn't matter if Logan can't hear it the conventional way, he hears it nonetheless, the heart of it translated by Kendall.

Music, to Logan, isn't just about rhythm and ratio anymore.

Gustavo agreed, and Logan wasn't too surprised. From the moment Gustavo took them on, he's only been the smallest bit hesitant about taking Logan's advice. The big guy could tell from the beginning Logan has an ear for good music.

Logan got to learn all about how Gustavo rejected Kendall, James and Carlos years ago. He also learned - reluctantly, on Gustavo's part - how the producer kicked himself for it for years until he found them again, this time as a self-made band. All-in-all, it worked out. For everyone involved.

_Big Time Rush, _they call themselves. It fits, not only for the hockey reference, but for the way all four feel when they play together, the way Logan's entire body throbs with an unheard sound when he looks at Kendall.

Logan thinks of it all now, a smile on his face as he watches Kendall recording vocals in the booth, Gustavo working the control panel. Unable to help himself, Logan signs the words to Kendall, _I used to think that love, was something fools made up, cause all I knew was heartbreak._

Kendall catches Logan's eyes, those perfect dimples deepening, and he signs back, _I couldn't help myself, let this heart go through hell, there's only so much a heart can take._

Then they're both signing together, and Gustavo is rolling his eyes. _No sweeter sound than what I've found, no perfect love could be more perfect than us._

"Stop, stop, stop," Gustavo says, waving arms in the air and turning on the mic to let him speak to Kendall in the booth. Kendall translates so Logan doesn't have to look away from him.

"How are we ever supposed to keep hiding your gayness if you two insist on making googly eyes at each other all the time?" Gustavo says, ripping the tinted lenses off and massaging his temples. It's Kendall's turn to roll his eyes.

"Kendall's just practicing his signing," Logan excuses, smile widening despite Gustavo's frustration. Since the night they first made love, Logan has been teaching Kendall to sign everything, along with Kendall taking some classes. Even though it's been nearly two years, Kendall is still learning.

"And who wants to hide?" Kendall asks. "I would scream to the world!" He overexaggerates the sign, throwing his arms up and out wide, and Logan is laughing, wanting to throw open the booth door and wrap himself around Kendall. The truth is, they haven't done a good job hiding at all. There's already rampant speculation after their first album and tour, Kendall and Logan both refusing to confirm or deny the rumors. But how can Gustavo expect them not to be handsy and give each other long looks? It's how they've learned each other, by touch and taste, scent and sight.

"Sell a million copies of something and then you can tell the Pope for all I care," Gustavo says.

"I'm holding you to that," Kendall replies, winking in Logan's direction.

"You're doing a great job, babe," Logan adds before Gustavo shuts off the mic, swatting at Logan's hands when he tries to turn it back on.

_Love you, _Kendall signs.

James chooses that moment to enter the room, peeling a banana. Logan gives him a cursory glance before signing the sentiment back to Kendall, adding a few more endearments.

"You can't even shut them up by turning off Kendall's mic, huh?" James says, commiserating with Gustavo. "I get so sick of them. Hey, hey, are you talking about me, Logan? I saw you spell out my name. You didn't think I knew my name is sign language did you?"

Logan narrows his eyes at James, completely missing what he said. "What?" Logan asks.

"I know sign language too," James replies, flipping his middle finger and gesturing wildly in Logan and Kendall's direction. He finishes up by making a crude gesture with the banana and his fist.

"Ugh, James, that's so rude, dude," Logan says.

"Nuh-uh, you know what's rude? Ever since Gustavo moved us back to the Palmwoods, you guys going at it like bunny rabbits just because you have a separate room now. Those walls are thin, man. And I know you can't hear yourself, but you're super loud." James contorts his face into - what he must think - is an intense O-face, and mimics, "'_Oh, Kendall, _harder, _oh god, fuck._'" Then James is thrusting his hips and doing more horrible things to the banana, and Logan is pretty sure his face is beet red.

"Oh my god, James, stop," Logan begs.

"Do you even know some of the stuff he says back to you? '_God, Logan, you feel so fucking good. You're never going to forget the way this feels because I'm going to fuck you _so hard.'" Then James starts jerking his head back and forth, and Logan can only assume he's making high-pitched, whining sounds which are supposed to pantomime either himself or Kendall.

Logan really wasn't sure of some of the things Kendall said during their more intimate moments, and he hates to admit what James' recollection is doing to him below the waist.

"Why didn't you mention this before if it bothers you?" Logan asks.

"At first, it was sweet and stuff, because you guys were new. Now, it's just gross. When does the newness shit wear off? Aren't you guys sick of boning each other yet?"

"James, shut the _fuck _up!" Gustavo finally shouts. "I can't stand you. Where's Carlos? You guys need to re-record this track." He pauses to turn the mic back on to the booth. Logan chortles when he finally looks back to Kendall, his expression aghast and confused at witnessing James' act without sound.

"Get out here, dog. We're taking a break from vocals." Gustavo turns around in the swivel chair and gets up. "And where's Kelly? I need coffee, the Irish kind," he mumbles, making his way out the door.

_What was that about? _Kendall signs, gesturing toward James.

_You don't want to know, _Logan answers.

-K/L-

Once Gustavo has released them for the day, Kendall tries to sneak up on Logan in their shared bedroom as Logan changes clothes. He's trying to be stealthy, light footfalls while holding his breath. Before he can grab Logan, the brunet says, "Hi, Kendall," without even turning around.

Kendall wraps his arms around Logan anyway, fingers and palms lingering against his unclothed sides, tickling up his rib cage before holding his hands out so Logan can see them. Kendall rests his chin on Logan's shoulder, nuzzling his cheek into Logan's hair.

_How did you know? _Kendall signs. It's a little difficult when he can't use his face, but Logan gets it.

Logan answers by touching his nose and chuckling softly.

_So I stink? _Kendall asks.

"No, you just smell like...um...like you. I have quite the sense of smell, in case you haven't noticed."

_You're good at everything, _Kendall says.

Logan snorts, "I'm really not."

_You're perfect for me, _Kendall says.

"You think so?"

_I know so._

Kendall's eyes move to the posters on the walls, the old collegiate books on the shelf. _Do you regret it?_

"Regret what?" Logan asks.

_Leaving school, joining the band. _He lets his hands pause for a moment, hands roaming across the expanse of Logan's exposed chest, barely teasing across his nipples. Logan makes a tiny sound, something like a whimper, Kendall almost forgetting to continue his thought. _Me, _he finally signs, spelling the word.

Logan turns in Kendall's arms, takes the blond's face in his hands. Without answering, he begins unbuttoning Kendall's shirt, pushing it away and pressing his lips to Kendall's sternum, swallowing the _thumpthump _of Kendall's heart, tasting the salt of his skin and thinking _this _is the flavor of rhythm. He only thought he loved beats until he knew Kendall's.

"Logan?" Kendall asks, wanting to hear some kind of answer, his fingers becoming lost in the wild locks of Logan's hair.

"James thinks I'm loud," Logan says, teeth finding Kendall's nipple and softly biting. "And here I thought I was the strong, silent type."

Kendall tightens his hold on Logan's hair, a deep groan unfurling from his throat, Logan feeling it through his lips. Roughly, Kendall pulls Logan's face to meet his, the look in his eyes desperate.

Most of the time, Kendall is okay. He's strong and supportive and brave. Then there are days like today, where he needs reassurance. Days where he needs to reaffirm that Logan needs him as much as he needs Logan.

Kendall has always been the tiniest bit codependent.

"Logan?" Kendall asks again.

"I think you're louder than me," Logan replies, leaning in and kissing Kendall, breathing him in and parting his lips, stealing his breath and speeding the rush of blood through his body. Reminding Kendall without words how much he is needed. How much he is loved.

When Logan finally breaks away, runs a thumb across Kendall's swollen, pink lips, he says, "Never," even though it's become unnecessary for him to say aloud.

Kendall smiles and shakes his head, eyes roaming across Logan's face, swallowing down the emotions that rise whenever he tries to comprehend how much he loves Logan. He only wishes there were more words to describe it. It's one of the reasons he wishes Logan could hear the songs he's inspired. It doesn't matter, Kendall reminds himself. Logan feels every note.

"So James thinks you're loud?" Kendall asks, lightning the heaviness in his chest.

"Yeah, he also quoted some pretty interesting things you've said," Logan replies, waggling his eyebrows.

"But you think I'm louder?" Kendall asks.

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Logan replies, cocky grin curling his mouth.

"Care to test that theory?"

"Sorry, can't hear you," Logan says, contradicting the statement by pushing Kendall to the bed, straddling his thighs and unbuttoning his pants.

Turns out, they're both equally loud.

Time marches on, a steady cadence Logan revels in like the drumline of a marching band. Instead of counting down, waiting on something, he's begun to count up, the days filled with music and lyrics, melodies and bass.

Kendall learns to play the piano, learning he loves to make his hands fly, quick like helicopter blades, smooth like the wings of a bird. Logan knows the feeling, falls asleep many late nights with his cheek pressed against the instrument as Kendall plays arpeggiated chords.

They do sell a million copies, Gustavo keeping his word, and people either keep loving them or stop. Sometimes, it's hard, but most of the time the sounds they make together are enough to keep them flying high while only loving each other more.

Logan starts to hum from time to time, off-key, but Kendall doesn't mind.

Kendall and Logan go on, and it never matters that Logan doesn't hear a chord of music or the loving timbre of Kendall's voice when he sings just for Logan, because what they make is about more than just sound. It's about being afraid but moving past it - the metallic clang of a gong. It's about acceptance - the sorrowful sound of a viola. It's about triumph - the bold brass of a trumpet. Because together they are woodwinds and percussion and strings and voices. They follow each other like the light and dark, the verse and the chorus.

Logan isn't afraid when the music stops, because it never does, not really. Not anymore.


	14. The Hidden Track

**Author's Note: I'm unofficially calling this bit "When the Music **_**Starts**_**". See how corny I am? Ha. Shh, you know you wanted this. And if you didn't, just don't read it and pretend the epilogue was actually the final part. Huge thanks to Ash, Becca and Renee on tumblr for encouragement and hand-holding, and thanks to Cithariza for answering some medical questions. I'm lucky to have so much help.**

**So this is it, guys, the real actual last part of this story. It's self-indulgent and cheesy and smutty but I just **_**had**_** to. I hope you enjoy it. I have uncontrollable feels for all of you. xoxo**

~oOo~

Logan is thirty-three years old and hasn't heard a real sound for twenty-five years when it happens.

He's going to meet Kendall at the studio, record some track music for one of Gustavo's up and coming boybands. They don't really record new music for Big Time Rush anymore, but still play the occasional show for nostalgia.

Logan was running late, so Kendall left before him, taking their two-year-old son to Camille while they work. She's not always available, but Logan prefers leaving their son, J.P. (after John Philip Sousa, of course), with her since she can sign to him. The kid can definitely be understood much clearer with his hands than his tiny, toddler mouth.

It was because Logan was running late he decided to take his motorcycle. It's not often he gets to ride it anymore (there just isn't a place for a carseat and a husband). Kendall doesn't like Logan riding it regardless, even before J.P., but he doesn't put up too much of a fuss because it was the one indulgence Logan allowed himself throughout their time as Big Time Rush.

Logan wears his helmet; he always does. He's suffered traumatic head injury before and has no desire to suffer it again. So, of course, he's wearing it, but he's thinking about Kendall and how he makes his signs small when speaking to J.P., under-exaggerating the movement of his hands so it all stays in the toddler's line of vision, and Logan doesn't thoroughly fasten the chin strap.

And it's because he's running late and thinking about how goddamn happy he is that he doesn't look before crossing through an intersection when the light turns green.

And it's because he's running late Logan gets hit sideways by a minivan, his last thought before his helmet goes flying along with his body that he should've really traded in for one of those.

~oOo~

Kendall wants to be so fucking mad at Logan, and he's ready to scream at him although he'll never hear it. He paces the waiting room, wondering how the fuck everybody seems so calm when he's absolutely furious. He refuses to think about how bad this could be, how hurt Logan is; he was hit by a fucking minivan for fucksake. Kendall knows Logan was aware of how much he absolutely _loathed _that stupid motorcycle. Sure, it was fun once or twice, but. Now. Kendall is furious.

Furious, until he sees Logan broken and bruised in ICU.

Kendall's anger melts away and is replaced with worry and pain and life-changing fear. He can't lose Logan now, not after everything, not after the years they've shared, the vows they've exchanged, the little boy they are supposed to raise together.

Logan is unconscious, lost to the world, and the doctor tells Kendall they're "observing" Logan, that he's suffered severe head trauma and probably won't wake up for awhile; there could be complications. There's not a whole hell of a lot to observe, just Kendall's unresponsive husband hooked up to so many machines he could be a cyborg. Kendall is afraid to even touch Logan, afraid of knocking something loose, afraid his bumbling might break Logan even further. Finally settling at the edge of Logan's bed, Kendall gingerly slides a hand under the blanket and places it on Logan's ankle, the one not swaddled in a cast. He stares at his fingers against the pale flesh of Logan's leg for who knows how long, and it's when he vaguely picks up on the pulse thrumming through that Kendall starts to cry, because he's scared shitless.

He holds his breath as nurses make their rounds, holds in the stupid sobs he's dying to release, until he decides it doesn't fucking matter if these people see him a mess. They're used to it anyway.

He eventually rests his head on the bed, still clinging to Logan's ankle and closes his eyes.

There's a hand lightly placed on his shoulder, but Kendall jumps anyway, lets go of Logan as though he's been caught doing something wrong, straightens the blanket at the sudden worry Logan's foot might be cold. He looks over his shoulder, his face angry red and blotchy, blinking to clear his vision.

"How long have you been sitting there, Son?" Mark, Logan's dad, asks, squeezing Kendall's shoulder where his hand still rests.

"I don't know. A few hours? How'd you get here so fast?" Kendall asks in reply.

"You called me at least eight hours ago."

Kendall's eyebrows pull together in confusion. He looks to Logan, eyes closed and his face barely visible through all the bandages and tubes, before he moves his gaze back to Logan's dad. The older man looks so concerned, but Kendall feels like it's directed to the wrong person. Kendall can't help but notice how Logan thoroughly got his father's eyes, the shape and color, and he starts to cry again. Because he really, really needs to see Logan, alert and eyes wide open or maybe crinkling at the corners with a smile.

"Get up, come on," Mark says, helping Kendall to his feet, pulling him into an embrace before he's even fully gained his balance. Kendall fists his hands into the back of Mark's travel jacket and squeezes him so tightly he wonders how the old man doesn't break, but Mark returns with a firm hug of his own.

"Aren't you w-worried?" Kendall splutters, trying not to gasp the words.

"No," Mark says, whispering into Kendall's shoulder. "My son has a hard head."

Kendall chuckles, desperate and breathless, because it's undeniably true.

"Thank you," Kendall replies, hiding his face in the crook of Dr. Mitchell's neck. In the fourteen years Kendall has known Mark, he's been more of a dad than Kendall's own father ever was, and it makes Kendall feel like a child now, urgently searching comfort, needing to hear how everything will be okay.

"It'll be okay, Son." Mark backs away, turns his attention to Logan in the hospital bed. His brow furrows ever so slightly before he looks at Kendall again. "Where's my grandson?"

"Shit," Kendall hisses, having the sense to look immediately abashed about cursing in front of his father-in-law. "Sorry." He begins patting his pockets, retrieving his phone and seeing all the missed calls and texts. "He was with Camille. I called and told her what happened. She's probably freaking out."

One text is from James, _We came by and you were asleep, so we didn't want to wake you. Please keep us posted. Love you guys, bro. _Kendall assumes James means he and Carlos were here. How fucking out of it was he?

The rest of the messages are Camille freaking out.

"God, I need to call her. Would you excuse me for a—"

"Why don't you go get him and go on home for awhile, huh? I'll stay here." Kendall is about to protest, go into a speech about how he needs to be here for his husband and how Mark is too old at seventy to be standing vigil by someone's bedside all night. But Mark says, "You've got more than just yourself and Logan to watch out for now. And I want to find out what's going on anyway." Mark can tell Kendall still wants to protest. "I'll call you if anything changes."

Kendall takes a long look at Logan, holds still without speaking until he can make out the rise and fall of Logan's chest, and there's this ache so deeply rooted inside Kendall he's not sure how he can ever begin to draw it out. What if he never sees Logan again? He doesn't think he could keep from losing it.

There's something else he hadn't thought about until this moment. "What do I tell J.P.?" Kendall asks, gaze firmly locked on Logan as though the question were being voiced to his motionless form.

"Well, if Camille hasn't told him, just be honest about it. In a way a child can understand, anyway," Mark answers.

"But Logan always tucks him in with me," Kendall replies, his bottom lip quivering when he thinks of home without Logan.

"You'll just have to do it on your own for now."

Kendall nods, slowly, a strange numbness overtaking him now that he's cried himself out. Finally, he looks at Mark. "Call me if anything changes. I'll be back soon."

~oOo~

Kendall doesn't sleep anymore that night and wonders how he slept the few hours he did at the hospital. J.P. doesn't ask too many questions, for which Kendall is grateful, but he debates on whether or not to take the kid with him to the hospital. He decides against it, and winds up calling Carlos at five a.m. to come over and stay with J.P. so Kendall can go back on his own. He doesn't feel too horrible about it; Carlos had offered.

When he gets to the hospital and he's let into the ICU, he starts to panic when Logan isn't there. That is, until the nurse assures him Logan has only been taken for more scans and tests. Kendall sits and waits, tries to call Logan's dad but it keeps going straight to voicemail.

Logan is finally wheeled back in, still unconscious, but Mark is nowhere to be found. So Kendall just scoots in close to Logan, feeling brave enough to lift Logan's hand, run fingers across his palm. When Kendall notices some dried blood underneath Logan's fingernails, he begins to feel sick, but he swallows down the urge to heave. He is as hollow and lifeless as Logan's body, as pained as Logan's split lips and blackened eyes.

It's at least an hour later, if not more, when Mark finally shows up along with one of the doctors. He introduces the doctor and they begin spouting off details on Logan's condition in medical jargon Kendall's overwrought brain has no hope of deciphering.

"Wait. What?" Kendall interrupts.

"Kendall," Mark starts, "Dr. Maxwell here did one of Logan's surgeries when he was a kid." He pauses to laugh. "I guess everyone relocates to Los Angeles. Maybe I need to take the hint."

"We could always use you here," Dr. Maxwell says.

"Hell no," Mark says, rubbing his back and adding, "I'm retiring next year. Should've retired years ago."

"Okay, so," Kendall interrupts, not too interested in the current conversation, "what's going on?"

The doctor's expression turns from jovial to serious, and Kendall has that horrible plummeting sensation envelop his whole body.

"Logan's MRI shows he's suffered from an epidural hematoma, which means he's got blood clotting underneath his skull from the fracture."

Kendall starts to freak out a little, because he really doesn't like where this is going. Logan's dad interjects, "Let him finish, Kendall. It's okay."

Kendall nods as Dr. Maxwell continues, "Now there doesn't appear to be much, if any, damage to his brain, because the clotting is happening on top of the dura – that's the covering of the brain, the brain's _skin_, if you will – so I think if we act aggressively, with surgery, his outlook is good."

"Oh." Kendall glances at Logan, quiet and still. He's going to be really upset about getting his head shaved. But hopefully this means he'll be alive to be upset. "Okay, yeah. When?"

"As soon as possible."

"Okay, what do I need to do? Do I have to sign some stuff? I really don't know how all this—"

"There's more, Kendall," Mark interrupts.

"More?" Kendall asks Dr. Maxwell.

Now, the doctor smiles, just the smallest one, enough to where Kendall thinks maybe he knows where this is heading, or maybe his wildest dreams and lack of sleep are making him crazy and hopeful.

"It's not standard," Dr. Maxwell begins, "but Mark and I have been talking about trying to repair some old damage."

"B-but Logan said he'd already had the cochlear implant and it didn't wo—"

"That was over twenty years ago, Mr. Knight," Dr. Maxwell interrupts. "Things have changed, significantly."

Kendall takes a step back and lets out a loud, long breath. This is almost too much to handle in a twenty-four hour period. He crosses his arms over his chest, squeezes himself tight. "Could you try to explain it to me?" Kendall doesn't think he'll understand, even if Dr. Maxwell uses nothing but three-letter words. His knees are shaking, but he tries to act calm.

"Of course. The surgeries Logan had as a child failed because he has what – at the time was – irreparable damage to his cochlea. The attempts that were made to repair it failed. The cochlea is small and spiraled and virtually impossible to repair by human means. Now, we have robotics which can—"

"So a machine is going to cut on Logan?"

"Well, yes," Dr. Maxwell says. "But I'll be operating it. It's actually safer. Recovery time after a surgery performed robotically is generally twice as quick as one performed by hand. It's hygienic and accurate. There's honestly _less _to be worried about."

"I-I don't know what to say. Logan didn't want to go through all that again. I don't know how he'd feel about this." Kendall is trying his best to think of Logan, trying to decide what Logan would want out of all this. If only he would wake up, so this kind of thing wouldn't be left up to Kendall. This is not something he can fuck up.

"Kendall," Mark says, cutting off the wild stream of Kendall's thoughts. "Logan didn't want to have any more surgeries, that's true. But this _has _to be done, regardless. Logan could hear again." He smiles, lips moved apart wide, laughing eyes. "Can you imagine?"

Kendall can imagine it. Logan listening to their song for the first time, hearing the crunch of hard-packed snow at Christmas in Minnesota. He can imagine the look on Logan's face when he hears J.P. laugh for the first time. He can imagine taking a full day to sing Logan every single song he's ever written about him, strumming along on the guitar to the cadence of a crackling fire. He could whisper a secret in Logan's ear and be rewarded with a breathy laugh. Kendall can see it all too well.

"Couldn't his hearing be repaired later? I mean, if we explain to him—"

Dr. Maxwell, shaking his head, says, "I wouldn't recommend it. Logan has suffered multiple severe head traumas now and the use of anesthetic is always a risk. Not only that, but the scar tissue once he's healed will make things even mor—"

"How long do I have to think about this?" Kendall interrupts.

"No more than an hour. We have to get all the necessities together and this needs to happen today," Dr. Maxwell replies.

~oOo~

Kendall and Mark sit in silence for several moments after Dr. Maxwell leaves, both staring at Logan in the low lit room. Kendall tries to put himself in Logan's shoes, tries to breathe quietly and make little noise. He's spent years trying to feel what Logan feels, know the silence in which Logan lives daily. He imagines coming out of it, being thrust into a noisy, chaotic world.

It's a very scary thing.

But then there are the few times Logan admitted to wishing he could hear, the frown on his face when they attended an acoustic set by Kendall's favorite band, the sad smile when J.P. said his first word. He recalls how, over time, Kendall had begun stopping himself from getting excited about some new melody he'd heard on the radio. He thinks of all the things they've missed that he's never lamented until now, now that there's a possibility things don't have to be missed anymore.

"Did Logan ever tell you about the time right after his accident?" Mark asks. Kendall nearly jumps in his seat, so lost he is in his thoughts.

"He's mentioned it, yeah," Kendall replies.

"His mom was always so worried about him. There was a day, probably about a year after Logan lost his hearing, she walked into his room because he had his TV turned up so loud. He had his eyes closed with his face pressed against the side of the television set, and he was crying. Logan never cried in front of us. He just never wanted anybody to feel—"

"Sorry for him," Kendall finishes. "That's something I know."

"She came to me after. She didn't let him know she saw him like that. He was prone to getting really angry in those days. She was a mess. Sobbing into my shoulder, saying how her little boy was hurt and he wasn't ever going to be the same, how he didn't want her help with anything."

Kendall wonders why Logan's dad is sharing this now. All it's doing is causing more hurt to stir in Kendall, an old, angry ache of helplessness to haunt the already troubled thoughts in his head.

"I told her I knew it was hard, but to stop thinking about herself. I told her he wouldn't ever be the same, but he would come out of it. I told her he'd be better. I told her he was adaptable. That he'd make his own way and be stronger and braver because of what happened to him. She still treated him as something breakable." Mark pauses, a faraway look on his face. "But I always knew I'd be right. And I was."

"You were," Kendall agrees. "I've never met anyone as good as Logan." Kendall thinks of how lucky he is and wonders how someone as extraordinary as Logan could love someone so ordinary.

"You know," Mark says, "he told me once he never wanted to hear anything so much as he wanted to hear you."

Kendall snaps his attention from Logan to his dad. "Really?"

"Like you don't know that," Mark laughs. "I don't think I've ever seen two people who fit together as well as you two."

"What does all this mean?" Kendall asks.

"It means, my son can handle anything. And he would never say _no _to the chance of _listening _to you, no matter the sound. Now there's J.P., and do you think Logan wants to miss out on hearing another _I love you _from either one of you?"

Kendall shakes his head.

"I think it's only right this is your decision, Kendall. You made him feel things, rhythm and vibration, in a new way. Why not do that again?"

Kendall looks at Mark a long time. Long enough to get lost in the brown of his eyes. Long enough to miss Logan so profoundly, he takes a ragged gasp.

As good as Kendall and Logan have been together, Kendall realizes the rest of their lives could be even greater. Logan's life could be greater. He could have sound and music and ocean waves and birds singing and bells ringing and children laughing. He could have the swell of an orchestra during a crescendo, wind chimes in summer. Everything would sound better to Kendall, as well, if he knew Logan could hear with him.

"Let's try this," Kendall says.

~oOo~

Logan dreams of Kendall, of his hands. He sees Kendall's hands at the piano, flying up the keyboard as he plays warm up chords, Kendall's hands throwing J.P. in the air and catching him, Kendall's hands knotted in his hair when he's frustrated. Logan dreams of Kendall's hands reaching out, touching Logan's naked hips, sweeping across the bareness of his stomach and chest. After awhile, Logan starts to hear music playing in the dream, and it's so disconcerting he almost wants to hide. He hasn't dreamed with sound since he was a teenager. It's like he knows he should know the song though, so after a few moments, once he gets a little more used to it, he decides he doesn't ever want to go back to the quiet. Maybe he'll stay right here and listen to this song forever.

He begins to dream of voices too, and since he doesn't remember or know what anyone sounds like, he doesn't recognize any of them. But, like with the song, there's something beautiful about the voices, something comforting like a well-worn sweater. One is deep, like the humming of a jet engine. One is playful and happy like the staccato snare. He hears one that sounds assured and caring like a constant bass drum. There's a female voice he hears from time to time, murmuring his name, soft and lilting. There's a child too, and he wonders if that's him, because Logan doesn't recall his own voice as anything but childlike. The voice he loves most of all sings to him, whispers words of affection and Logan knows it has to be what Kendall would sound like, because it's always there, in every dream he has. His voice, even when speaking, is musical and Logan doesn't ever want to know the disappointment of silence ever again.

He really thinks he'll just stay asleep for awhile.

~oOo~

Logan dreams of his mother. It's strange because she's been dead three years. When she moves her mouth, Logan can't hear her. So, they use their hands.

_You're a father now, _she signs, smiling like she has a secret.

_Yes, _Logan signs in return, _his name is J.P., and he's almost three. He already signs better than you ever did._

Her smile grows and she laughs, Logan only just realizing how young she looks, younger than he ever remembers her being. He hates that he never saw how beautiful she was, face fresh as an autumn morning.

A sadness overtakes him - the first he's experienced since being in this strange, long sleep.

_I wish you could meet him._

_So do I, _she replies. _He misses you._

_What do you mean? _Logan asks.

_Kendall misses you, too, _is her reply. _Can you hear him now?_

Logan looks around him, trying to figure out his surroundings and getting nowhere. There is a quiet voice filling the space, a ghostly voice full of longing disturbing the slight fog. Logan concentrates, closes his eyes and listens.

_Wake up, _the beautiful voice says, but it's so sad. _Logan, please, wake up._

_Who is that? _Logan asks his mom. She continues to smile at him.

_I think you know._

_Why can't I hear you? This is my dream, _Logan says.

_You don't remember the sound of my voice, Logie Bear, _she signs, _and I'm not there anymore for you to hear._

_What? _Logan is confused, reeling, and his mother is rapidly disappearing.

_It'll be a little scary, baby, but it'll be worth it._

_Mom, _Logan says, panicking because he can see right through her and he can't quite figure out what she means. His head is starting to hurt. _Can't you stay with me?_

_You haven't needed me since you were small. I love you, always, _she says, fading away into nothing.

The pain in Logan's head doubles, and he understands that he's waking up. It happens slowly at first, and he tries to fight it, wants his mom to hold him while he listens to the voices and the music. He's afraid of quiet, for the first time in a long time. All at once, he's awake, light filtering through and making the inside of his eyelids orange. He takes a deep breath and hears the rush of air through his lungs. Logan doesn't want to open his eyes because maybe he's still dreaming.

There's a low murmuring, and Logan slits open his eyes, sees Kendall talking to someone in a doctor's coat.

Logan thinks he catches words like "overwhelmed" and "takes time", but that's impossible. He's having trouble reconciling the words with the sound; it's been a long time.

"Papa's awake," says a tiny voice, and Logan jerks his head in the direction of the sound. He blinks and blinks and blinks, because this feels like being awake. His head is pounding and his body aches and he feels like shit. But J.P. sits there, wiggling his chubby fingers and waving.

"Logan?" says the lovely voice, the one from his dream. Logan's eyes move back to Kendall, meeting the comforting, familiar, warm green_yellow_brown of Kendall's eyes, jade and citrine, and Logan realizes the voice belongs to Kendall.

Yes, Logan's head is aching and everything hurts and the sounds are a little muted, but he can _hear. _

"I can hear you," Logan says, and it's so much that he's crying, gasping before he can say anything else. He's hearing his son and Kendall murmuring love and joy and they're both wrapping arms around him and his muscles protest when he hugs them back but he does it anyway. Logan asks them both to keep talking, to pinch him, remind him a million times that he's awake and this isn't a dream.

"I-I sound like a grown-up," Logan stutters, shaking fingers touching his throat and mouth. "I never thought about how _I _would sound." And he's laughing as tears stream down his face, having completely forgotten – maybe never realized – how remarkable it is just to be able to hear a loved one's voice, smiles evident in the pitch of speech. It's a miracle and completely overwhelming. "I _hate _my voice."

Kendall is laughing too, sniffling and pressing kisses to the trails of tears on Logan's cheeks, doing nothing but adding to the moisture there. "I _love _your voice," Kendall says.

"Say it again," Logan requests.

"I love your voice and I love you," Kendall replies.

J.P. seems confused, but excited because his parents are. _Does this mean I don't have to talk with my hands anymore? _J.P. signs. "Since Papa hears now," he says out loud.

_You should still sign, _Logan replies. "But don't ever stop talking." He wants to pull J.P. in his lap, beg the child to sing the alphabet, say _Papa _over and over and over. Logan tries to pull his little boy into his lap despite his injuries and winds up nearly falling out of bed, Kendall catching him. For his bumbling, he's rewarded with bright laughter from J.P., the sound echoing through the room, filling Logan's ears and bringing more tears to his eyes.

"H-how is this possible? What's going on? How long have I been out?" Logan asks. Kendall opens his mouth to answer, but the doctor clears his throat.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," the doctor says, "but there's a lot to discuss, Logan."

~oOo~

Logan finds out he'd been asleep for eight days. He finds out about the surgery he had, and he's only a little upset about his hair, because he can fucking _hear. _Hair grows back. Broken bones heal. He'll be able to hear longer than Kendall now.

"This is so bizarre," Logan says, over and over, each new revelation a shock to his system. Dr. Maxwell warned him not to overwhelm himself, but Logan can't stop. The six weeks it takes for his cast to come off and his head to heal are marked by Kendall squeezing every minute of his free time full of music and sound Logan has missed. Every song Big Time Rush ever recorded, except for one, they play together (sometimes with James and Carlos), repeating the ones Logan loves over and over. At first, Logan has to put something over his ears, because with so much sound in the room he has a hard time finding the rhythm, the cacophony of the instruments making him dizzy. It's frustrating, but he works through it.

Kendall plays his guitar, sings Logan to sleep just as he does J.P. He wakes Logan up the same way, with a goofy grin and a song. Logan touches Kendall's throat and lips, matches the vibration with the voice, and J.P. and Kendall talk just so Logan can hear them, sometimes running out of things to talk about. It's those moments they tell ridiculous jokes, speak in funny accents or sing lullabies over and over until their mouths are dry, but even when J.P. falls asleep, Kendall just drinks some water and keeps talking.

Mark stays for a week after Logan wakes up, the sound of his voice like déjà vu, the authoritative timbre of it pulling long-forgotten memories to the forefront of his mind: games of catch, building forts and countless medical terms sounded out into Logan's ear. He'd let it slip from his mind (or maybe he forgot on purpose) how comforting his dad's voice is, and hearing it again reminds him of how much his parents love him. He had forgotten there was a time he needed them.

Kendall buys Logan a music player and while he's recovering he downloads and listens to hundreds of songs, if not thousands. He listens to the dictionary too, because there are many words he's never heard and he wants to hear them all. He spends the time he's not with Kendall blaring out sound, touching, feeling, listening and trying to make up for lost time. He lives loudly, slamming cabinet doors and clanking dishes, banging on drums, tabletops, his thighs. J.P. thinks it's funny when Logan taps out a rhythm on the child's tiny tummy. And when Logan can walk on his own two feet again, once he's free of the cast and his headaches ease, he goes shopping and gets a record player and old vinyl, closing his eyes and fighting off the urge to weep at the cracks and pops of the warm sound.

J.P. and Kendall laugh and laugh at him, not mocking him in any way, but the happy, perfect joy Logan exudes is infectious. Logan doesn't mind how they laugh at him, as long as they never stop. Logan spends his days chuckling and crying and shouting out the joy of being able to listen. Kendall wraps his arms around Logan from behind, tells him how amazing he is, tells him all the wonderful things they'll share, and Logan hears each and every word, each breathless declaration and Kendall's hands never have to leave Logan's.

The only problem is, Kendall is treating Logan too delicately for his liking. Logan has never wanted Kendall so much, never felt himself so overcome by desire as when Kendall talks and laughs, but above all when Kendall sings. When Kendall sings Logan feels nailed to the floor and launched into the sky. When Kendall sings, Logan is a melody, a collection of treble staff notes flying without lines or borders. Music, when played, has never been something a person could see, but Logan swears he can now, in the love on Kendall's face when he tells Logan these lyrics were written for him.

All in all, Logan really just feels like a horny teenager.

Kendall kisses him, delivers light touches across Logan's face, runs a finger up Logan's spine as they settle in for the night, but that's it. To beat it all, Kendall thinks it's _funny. _He chuckles when Logan's kisses turn desperate, when he tries to reach into Kendall's boxers, when Logan tries to peel off Kendall's clothes. It's fucking frustrating, because as much as Logan loves to hear Kendall speak softly or trill like a bird, he has yet to hear one thing he really wants.

Logan wants to hear his lover _moan. _

~oOo~

Kendall takes Logan out on a date, not just their first since Logan got his hearing back, but honestly, it's probably their first time alone since J.P. There's this restaurant by the beach where the tables and dance floor are out under the stars, a quartet plays and couples dance to smooth sounds of strings and waves.

When their food arrives, Logan doesn't start eating right away, although Kendall does. He hears the movement of the ocean, the crashing of the water to shore, the high and low pitch of the instruments, the chatter of the people surrounding them, the metallic clang of silverware on plates. There's a beat in all of it, an underlying counted measure orchestrating his life and he matches it to the flex of Kendall's jaw as he chews, the movement of his throat as he swallows. It's lovely, everything coming together, sound and color and vibration and Logan has one of those moments where he can't breathe because everything is just so right and good.

"Aren't you hungry?" Kendall says in that beautiful voice of his, laced with humor and adoration. Logan only thought he knew Kendall loved him before. But now that he's heard Kendall's voice and every octave of it has imprinted in Logan's heart, he doesn't know how he truly understood before. It's enough to leave Logan aching for Kendall, even though he's merely feet away.

Logan smiles, a half-curve, and replies, "Not really."

"Then I'm done," Kendall says, taking a long drink of water and wiping his mouth. He seems to make eye-contact with someone on the other side of the dance floor, and he nods.

"What did you do, Kendall?" Logan asks, the half-curve of his mouth moving to a full smile.

Kendall only smirks and asks Logan to dance.

There's this play of moonlight on Kendall's hair, making his golden locks silver in places, and Logan can't stop looking at him. Logan knows all of Kendall's expressions; he's studied the blond's face for ages now. He never tires of it though, expressive brows, sharp chin and soft eyes. He doesn't look away as Kendall pulls him to the dance floor, because he knows Kendall will lead him, always.

"They've stopped the music," Logan says, wrapping his arms around Kendall's waist, snuggling into more of an embrace than a dance pose.

"Just wait," Kendall murmurs against Logan's temple, the sound and vibration of Kendall's voice felt all the way to Logan's toes.

Then the quartet begins to play, close to where the two hold each other, but Logan still doesn't look away from Kendall. They begin to sway gently to the notes permeating the air.

"This sounds familiar," Logan says.

Kendall hums the tune, the sound rumbling through his chest and moving into Logan.

"I've heard this," Logan says.

"Only when you were sleeping," Kendall replies. He begins to _whisper_sing into Logan's ear, words heated and drawing a shiver from Logan, because now they can exchange secrets with words instead of hands.

_Because where's my heart without a beat? _Kendall breathes to Logan, _We've lost some time among other things, But I'd happily drown in the sound of you._

The strings swell and Logan pulls back to look into Kendall's eyes. They're glinting with tears like starlight, emotion-drowned green staring straight into Logan and silencing everything else but Kendall's voice. "Do you remember this, Logan?"

"Of course, I do. Why did you wait so long to let me hear this?" Logan asks, his words quiet, whispered like a harp.

"Because I never want you to forget the first song I ever wrote you," Kendall answers, reaching out and tracing the shell of Logan's ear with his index finger.

"How could I?" Logan laughs, short and disbelieving.

"Do you remember you said…" He lets go of Logan to sign, _Take me home, _before his hands go straight back to Logan's hips. "And then you never left me again?"

"The first of hundreds of best days of my life," Logan replies.

"That makes no sense. There's only one best, Logan. I thought you were a genius." Kendall smiles, and Logan thinks if Kendall's grin were a sound it would be J.P.'s laugh, a playful piccolo and resounding cymbal.

"I guess I'm just so lucky that my life defies logic," Logan replies, and he really means it, _believes _in it. Kendall is constant like the rustling of a breeze through palm trees, the pulse of his heart, sure footsteps in the dark. If Kendall hadn't seen fit to fight for Logan, he would be stuck, alone in a world without sound. The very thought of it has Logan squeezing Kendall closer to him, burying his face in the crook of Kendall's neck, searching out that comforting pulse with his lips.

Then Kendall kisses him, the night sounds coming back, the music reaching its highest point. Their lips move together like something choreographed, something composed yet chaotic and their mouths don't separate until the music stops.

"Thank you," whispers Logan, peppering kisses across Kendall's jaw, "for wanting me."

"Take me home," Kendall says in reply.

Logan hears him, loud and clear.

~oOo~

Logan tries like hell to entice some noise from Kendall on the way home, runs hands across his chest and boldly palms the bulge between his legs. It isn't hard to tell Kendall enjoys it, but all he gives Logan is a silent smirk, maybe a panted breath between parted lips.

When they _finally _make it home, as soon as the door is closed, Logan slams Kendall against it, the sound of his back on the wood loud enough to make Logan jump in the quiet. It doesn't stop him from fisting Kendall's collar, forcefully bringing their mouths together. Kendall hums against Logan's lips, but it's still nowhere near enough to begin satisfying the need Logan has to hear pleasured sounds from Kendall.

"Tell me you need me," Logan demands, taking Kendall's lower lip between his teeth, biting down harder than he's ever dared.

Kendall doesn't say a word.

"_Goddamnit, _Kendall," Logan growls, nearly shaking Kendall where he still holds his husband by the collar. He's overcome, trembling with want and frustration, and he lets go of Kendall's collar to untuck Kendall's shirt from his pants, unfasten his belt with a metallic clang. Logan begins to lower Kendall's zipper, each of the teeth ringing out and echoing and committing the sound to Logan's memory. He doesn't break away from Kendall's gaze, even as he roughly pushes Kendall's pants and boxers to his thighs, and Logan closes his fingers around Kendall's cock.

Biting his lower lip, Kendall's eyes go wide, his head thudding against the door. His breathing is growing ragged, his nostrils flaring, and Logan thinks he's about to get what he wants. Leaning forward, Logan licks a stripe up his husband's throat, ending with Kendall's earlobe between his teeth. Logan can feel the rapid thud of Kendall's heart resonating in his own chest, and he breathes out, hot and heavy against the slickened spots on Kendall's flesh.

Logan is tugging Kendall's dick in just the right way, the way Logan knows makes Kendall's knees weak. "Fuck, let me hear you." Pressing against Kendall harder, Logan uses his free hand to undo his own belt, his smart fingers moving rapidly with a ferocity that only comes with uninhibited need. In seconds, his erection is freed, and he's rising to tiptoes to press himself against Kendall, fisting both of their cocks, bucking upward and moaning.

Arms still limp at his sides and lips bitten cherry red, Kendall is cracking. His eyes are closed and these short, tuneful, rhythmic gasps accidentally slip through his mouth. "_Come on, come on, come on," _Logan chants, very nearly sings.

Finding one of Kendall's hands, Logan twines their fingers, braces himself with both their hands against the wall. He kisses Kendall deeply, pushing his tongue into Kendall's mouth, drinking in and stealing Kendall's breath, trying to leave him no choice but to groan.

Logan is rewarded with the quietest of whispered curses.

"Louder than that," Logan says, dragging Kendall to the bedroom by their joined hands.

If this is a game, Logan is going to win.

There's nothing gentle about the way Logan pushes Kendall onto the bed, nothing tender about the way Logan doesn't take the time to unbutton Kendall's shirt, the noise of buttons snapping, flying and hitting the floor only making Logan feel more hurried. He makes quick work of Kendall's pants, the blond still remaining unnaturally mute.

At least Logan was able to wipe that smirk off Kendall's face.

Logan fucks Kendall with his eyes, slowly, tracing a line from Kendall's ankles to thighs, from his eager dick to the rigid slopes of his taut stomach and chest. Finally, he gets to Kendall's face and Logan feels like he's burning, like he's winded, like a heavy-hand on the piano forte.

There's the flush of red from Kendall's chest up to his neck and face, his cheeks rosy with lust, but still, he remains silent. He's the first to break the stillness though, leaning forward and reaching for the hem of Logan's shirt, tries to push Logan's pants off the rest of the way.

"No," Logan protests, moving from Kendall's grasp and falling to his knees at the edge of the bed. His hands slide up Kendall's thighs before he fills his palms with the flesh of Kendall's ass. Logan unsympathetically pulls Kendall forward until he perches on the edge of the bed, the promise of the headboard banging into the wall rattling the frame.

And Logan doesn't get right to it like Kendall wants. He presses open-mouthed kisses against Kendall's knees and inner thighs, two sets of lips parted and throbbing, Logan watching as Kendall's pale skin erupts into chills. His ears are keen and he's listening for the tiniest sounds from Kendall, his own heavy breathing alternating with Kendall's until they are a rhythm, in and out, out and in. Logan chuckles – dark, lustful, wicked – the deepness strange in his ears, and he tongues Kendall's cock from base to tip.

Kendall's hips thrust upward, a movement he can't stop, and a tiny gasp lets loose into the atmosphere.

It's not much, but it's enough to send a shock of pride through Logan and he stops teasing and takes Kendall between his lips, humming around his cock. Logan works his tongue on the sensitive underside of Kendall's stiffness, allowing the blond to buck and writhe into Logan's mouth. Kendall tries to control his breathing, a long, slow rush of air expelled amongst small vibrations of satisfaction.

Suddenly, Logan stops.

"Do you want to fuck me, Kendall?" Logan asks, returning to his prior strategy of teasing, rubbing Kendall's dick against his lips, the tip of his tongue sneaking past. "You have to tell me, or I won't know." He is playing wide-eyed innocence, like he doesn't know how it feels to have Kendall canting into him, fucking him into a million shards like thirty-second notes.

Kendall stays quiet and that _fucking _smirk is back.

"Guess I'll just have to do it myself," Logan chimes, rising to his feet, leisurely removing his clothes and going to the nightstand, returning to Kendall with slick fingers. He pushes Kendall, urges him to scoot backward with one hand, and Logan straddles his husband's thighs. Logan hovers over Kendall, just enough so they aren't touching in the places that count, and he presses a single finger inside himself. The moan he has been attempting to draw from Kendall flies from him, but he doesn't close his eyes because the way Kendall looks at him – feral, untamed – has him awestruck.

Another finger joins the first, and Logan groans, "Feels _good._"

Logan fucks back on his fingers until he is loose and trying to hamper the sounds he makes, because he's not used to hearing himself this way, desperate and needy. Kendall notices, unable to keep his hands to himself anymore, fingertips finally tracing Logan's ribs, traversing the planes of his chest and abdomen before grasping his leaking cock.

"Fuck, Logan," Kendall pants, "don't stop making those noises." And it's like once Kendall's silence is broken, a whole new level of sound is created and he's fucking _begging _Logan to whisper, moan, _scream _out how this feels, how it feels to have Kendall's fingers around his cock, if he likes to fingerfuck himself so Kendall can watch.

Then Kendall is growling, "_Come on, come on, come on,_" and urging Logan forward by the hips, guiding him, lowering him until Kendall is sliding into Logan's body and they're both hissing and cursing and fitting together like they'll fall apart by waiting any longer.

And Logan is swirling his hips, rising up on his haunches and slamming back down onto Kendall, the throb of Kendall's cock and the sound of skin on skin causing Logan to shout, "Yes, yes, _yes, fuck._ Goddamnit, keep talking to me."

There's nothing smooth about Kendall's movements as he thoughtlessly thrusts upward, no rhythm, no groove, just a burning want to make this love with as much sound as possible, remind Logan of what he never has to miss again with skin and high-pitched whimpers and the thump of the headboard against the wall.

"God, _nnnn, _you feel so good. Always, always, you feel too good, fuck," Kendall whisper_moans, _stroking Logan's cock until his hand is almost a blur.

"Come on, fuck me hard," Logan gasps. "I won't break."

Logan is digging fingernails into Kendall's chest, dragging them down until there are angry, red trails on Kendall's chest, but it only makes the blond's shouts louder, only makes his thrusting more chaotic. Without warning, Kendall firmly grips Logan's hips and flips them over so that he's on top. He's throwing one of Logan's legs over his shoulder and fucking him so hard Logan can't see straight, tries to focus in on Kendall's furrowed brow, the sweat rolling down his face and nose. His vision might be blurred, but he still hears every single fucking thing, from Kendall groaning _I fucking love you so much _to his own voice, pleading for Kendall it say it again and again and again.

It only takes a few well-aimed thrusts, a few well-played words and Logan is on the verge of coming to the sound of Kendall's urging, beckoning Logan's release as though he'd never wanted anything more in his life. Kendall is muttering, "Yes, _god, _yes," and Logan is shouting out the elation of it, because he's never been this fucking overloaded in his life. His senses assault him and it's too much, but the kind of too much he can never get enough of. It feels like he's standing forever on the edge, the edge of unfathomable love and lust and pleasure before he's plummeting like a falling chorus.

Kendall comes seconds after Logan, and seeing his lover completely unhinged draws out Logan's orgasm. Kendall's brow furrows and he tries so hard to keep his eyes open but he can't. His face contorts into an expression bordering on pain, and he hisses unintelligible words between his teeth before he is moaning, long and loud, the sound intensifying to the point it's like the feedback of an electric guitar, the hollowed out sound of a gong. He thrusts into Logan a final time, burying himself deep and grinding, his thighs pressed against Logan's ass. He leans down, desperately presses his open lips against Logan's, pants the final notes of his release into Logan's eager mouth.

Kendall collapses on Logan, apologizes and asks if he's been hurt in any way. Logan only laughs as Kendall burrows his hands under Logan's back, snuggles down into Logan's chest. It seems like hours they lie there, trying to steady their breathing.

"Hey," Kendall says, breaking the quiet, "we can have pillow talk like this now."

Logan chuckles – warm, bright and happy – squeezing Kendall's shoulders and kissing his hair.

"Yeah, we can. Until you get too old to hear, anyway."

Kendall scoffs in mock indignation. "We'll always have a way to communicate though, won't we?"

Holding a hand in the air above Logan's face, Kendall signs, _I love you._

Logan pushes Kendall onto his back, stares into the shine of Kendall's eyes in the barely-there light before he kisses him again, humming out the pleasure a simple press of lips can bring. He places his ear against Kendall's chest, finding the same beat he's used to compose everything from a basic drum roll to entire symphonies. He smiles against Kendall's ribs.

"Like what you hear?" Kendall asks, a soft chuckle tickling Logan's cheek.

"Yes," Logan answers.

~oOo~

The next day when they go get J.P. from Camille's, James is there, and, of course, he can't resist the urge to be crude.

"You finally get some, Logan?" James asks, to which Logan immediately shushes him.

"Shut up, James. There's a k-i-d in the room," Logan says, gesturing with his eyes to J.P.

As if on cue, J.P. asks Kendall, "What does 'get some' mean, Daddy?"

"Uncle James is only talking about ice cream, baby," Kendall answers, shooting James a death glare before ushering J.P. to the hallway.

"Why do you even have him over, Camille?" Logan asks, giving his friend a warm smile.

_He's hot, _Camille signs, passing a private smirk that hasn't changed a bit in the years they've all aged. Logan reaches out to hug Camille, thanking her for keeping J.P. all night.

"I hate sign language," James says. "I feel like you're always talking about me."

"Don't be so paranoid, James," Camille soothes.

Logan just snorts, because when James is in the room, it usually is about him. He's preparing to leave, waving as a final goodbye when he remembers something.

As he's walking to the door, he pauses, leans in to whisper in James' ear.

"Kendall is _way _louder than me."

The shocked expression on James' face is more than enough to bring a self-satisfied smirk to Logan's face as he walks into the hall, the smirk turning to an expression more genuine when he sees his family waiting on him.

J.P. holds out his hand to Logan, which he takes. All three walk outside, J.P. urging Kendall and Logan to swing him as he clings to their hands.

The day is sunny (a common occurrence) with a few fluffy clouds moving through the sky. There's a slight breeze, the smallest sound of tinny music floating on the wind.

J.P. yanks on Logan's arm until he looks down at the little boy. "Can you hear that, Papa?" he asks.

Logan picks him up, runs fingers through his wild brown hair, touches the tip of his nose. J.P. giggles, touching Logan's nose in return. Logan listens to the faraway music, traffic rolling through the streets, the wind whistling around the buildings, the quiet chuckle from Kendall as he slings an arm around Logan's shoulder, reaching in to tickle J.P. under his chin. It's music, all of it, and Logan is overwhelmed with thankfulness, even for the simplicity of city noises, the daily rhythm of his husband and child.

"I hear _everything_," Logan answers.


End file.
